


The Name You Gave Me

by Fighting_for_Creativity, rebelmeg



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, BAMF Edwin Jarvis, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Child Abuse, Escape Attempt, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kid Natasha Romanov, Kid Tony Stark, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Kidnapping, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Nightmares, Obadiah is a dick, Past Character Death, Peggy Carter mentioned - Freeform, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Tony Stark, Red Room (Marvel), Rescue Missions, Strucker and Pierce make a cameo appearance, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Trauma, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 49,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fighting_for_Creativity/pseuds/Fighting_for_Creativity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg/pseuds/rebelmeg
Summary: If you asked the Asset, he'd say it started with being given a name, something of his own. For the first time he had something for himself, and he became greedy. So she became his as well.If you asked the little Widow, she'd say, “It started with a brother. He was my brother and I wanted another.”If you asked Howard Stark, he'd say, “It started with the Serum, and it ended with a Serum.”But if you asked the youngest of them all, he'd answer, “It started like everything, an action was the catalyst for a chain reaction. I was just lucky to have a brother and a sister, a real father and another mother, through it all.”The moral of the story is that a true family always finds each other.
Relationships: Ana Jarvis/Edwin Jarvis, Edwin Jarvis & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark
Comments: 403
Kudos: 284
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Kid Fic Avengers, Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019, Tony Stark Bingo 2020





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings, everyone! This fic has some very serious triggers in it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asset has been here before. He knows because they don’t keep their words to themselves. But there are other signs as well. Like the cowering children and the red-haired girl that looks at him like she knows him.
> 
> This crosses off a BBB square for each of us! C5 - Mind Control/ Brainwashing (fightingforcreativity) and B5 - scars (rebelmeg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Name You Gave Me  
> Collaborators: fightingforcreativity, rebelmeg  
> Square Filled: C5 - Mind Control/ Brainwashing (fightingforcreativity) and B5 - scars (rebelmeg)  
> Ship: Bucky & Natasha  
> Rating: Mature  
> Major Tags: Hydra, Red Room, brainwashing, trauma, child abuse  
> Summary: If you asked the Asset, he'd say it started with being given a name, something of his own. For the first time he had something for himself, and he became greedy. So she became his as well. If you asked the little Widow, she'd say, “It started with a brother. He was my brother and I wanted another.” If you asked Howard Stark, he'd say, “It started with the Serum, and it ended with a Serum.” But if you asked the youngest of them all, he'd answer, “It started like everything, an action was the catalyst for a chain reaction. I was just lucky to have a brother and a sister, a real father and another mother, through it all.” The moral of the story is that a true family always finds each other.  
> Word Count: 931

_September 1979_

They didn’t take care with their words around the Asset. It was something he noticed, often. No one altered or censored what they spoke when he approached, or went away. He learned things this way.

He had been here before. In this training place. The Red Room. He had been an instructor, a trainer to these children. He didn’t remember. But he’d been here. On the first day they’d taken him into one of the classes, children lined up in straight rows facing the front, and he’d seen nine of them flinch. One had started to shake.

When he’d found out why, it had done something, inside him. Inside his head. Something like… static, winding around his thoughts, a roiling sensation in his stomach. He didn’t understand any of it until he heard one of the teachers later.

“We’ll not put him in charge of discipline, this time. That should be enough.”

“The children remember him. That should also be enough.”

“If you’d been at the end of his punishments, wouldn’t you remember?”

The rest, the Asset pieced together. The child that had shaken, a little girl with dark eyes and light hair, was removed from the program after the first training session with the Winter Soldier. He had advanced, in practice, to test how well she could execute the movements he had been teaching them. She had faltered, stumbled, then crumpled to the mat and thrown her arms over her head with a scream. Long white scars lined her arms, as if a brand had been placed crosswise on them. 

Another instructor had rushed in, with sharp words, and the girl had to be carried out. The Asset caught one word as she went past him. Whip.

He’d been unable to function for the rest of that day, and was sent to his cell to await his handler.

The Asset had been told his training with the young Black Widows and Wolf Spiders would be four weeks long, and he’d been given his choice of how to divide up the way he would teach them, in what order and how, to make lethal weapons of the children learning in the Red Room.

He noticed her at the first practice, with the second youngest group of children, all four or five years old. He noticed her in all of the classes. But it took a week before she let him know that she’d known about it, seen him watching.

“You watch me.”

The other children were leaving, panting and bruised and exhausted from going through the exercises he’d been teaching them, practicing with each other. But not this one. She stood before him, barely taller than his knee, her vibrant, almost blood-red hair falling around her round, porcelain face. She spoke in Russian, as many of them did, it was clearly her native language. But they weren’t allowed to speak Russian, or Polish or Romanian in a few cases, in classes. They were to speak English always, and their accents would be honed away by time until there was no hint in their voices that they had not been born American. That the girl risked it to speak to the Asset was… unusual.

“I watch all of you.” He replied, in Russian like her, almost surprising himself that he was speaking to her. It felt strange to speak behind his mask. He rarely spoke. They didn’t need him to speak.

“You watch me more.” She insisted, green eyes narrowing slightly, the expression on her face demanding to know why.

“You’re better.” The Asset said simply. It was true. She was. Maybe younger, definitely smaller than most of the others, but very, very good. She would be one of the ones that succeeded. She was the kind they were looking for.

The tiny Widow-in-training nodded once, then ran lightly to catch up to the others. The Asset watched her go.

* * *

He watched her more, after that, the little girl with flame-red hair and eyes that, unlike so many of the others, showed no fear around him. He watched the way she saw things, and wasn’t surprised that she had noticed him watching before. She also watched him right back, which the Asset wasn’t sure about. Nobody ever watched him like that. Not even his handler.

They hardly spoke. That would have been dangerous, though the Asset wasn’t sure how he knew that. But every time they were close enough to see each other, the tiny girl and the towering assassin exchanged a glance. It was more than anyone else ever gave the Asset. He was a thing, a tool, used to sharpen the blunt instruments the children were, to make them honed to a deadly point and lethal. He was given orders, and knew better than to do anything but follow them perfectly. No one looked at him, he wasn’t worth looking at. Nobody spoke to him, he wasn’t worth speaking to.

Except for her.

“You hurt us before.”

The words said to him after a training session were straightforward and void of emotion, as the children were taught. The Asset had no idea how to reply, and so didn’t.

She cocked her head slightly, those eyes seeing so much. “You don’t anymore.”

“No.”

“They took you away because you couldn’t hurt us.”

That felt… that was… 

The Asset had no words for what was happening in his mind, and after a moment, the little girl left. She glanced at him once more though, her green eyes missing nothing.

“I’m glad you don’t hurt us anymore. It hurt you, too.”


	2. Yasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girl—Natalia, the Asset remembered—was there every now and then. She was there with her green eyes, watching. She was there, so small in front of his prison-like quarters, talking with him. But the Asset knew he wouldn’t be staying much longer. He never did.
> 
> More squares! J's TSB square A1 - Spy, Secret Agent, Assassin, Hitman and rebelmeg's LoMB N5 - Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Name You Gave Me - Chapter 2: Yasha  
> Collaborator Name: fighting_for_creativity, rebelmeg  
> Card Number: 3113  
> square filled: A1 - Spy, Secret Agent, Assassin, Hitman  
> Ship/Main pairing: Bucky & Natasha  
> Major Tags: Hydra, Red Room, brainwashing, trauma, child abuse  
> Summary: The girl—Natalia, the Asset remembered—was there every now and then. She was there with her green eyes, watching. She was there, so small in front of his prison-like quarters, talking with him. But the Asset knew he wouldn’t be staying much longer. He never did.

_October 1979_

Time passed strangely for the Asset. The days were regular, moving like clockwork so that it was impossible for time to be lost there. The lessons and practices slowly got more difficult, more demanding for the children, and though he demanded excellence by his mere presence, he had not yet been called upon to distribute punishment to those that weren’t keeping up.

The nights were difficult. Sleep was… an elusive concept for the Asset. Once he had finished teaching his last class, the most advanced with the oldest pupils that were on the cusp of adulthood, he was escorted to his cell by his handler. He ate what was given to him, then laid on the hard, narrow bench that served as his resting place. Sleep, if it came to him, was strange and fitful, filled with faces and places and voices he didn’t know or understand. As the days passed, he could remember some of the dreams when he woke, able to conjure them up in his mind in daylight. 

There were two faces he seemed to remember the strongest. A woman, middle-aged, with brown hair and blue eyes with soft lines around them. There was something familiar about her. And a man, a young man, maybe even a boy, with blond hair and different blue eyes. 

The Asset dreamed of them often, when he could make sense of his dreams. But they meant nothing to him. He could only remember as far back as being removed from a cryo tube a few weeks ago. Everything before then was… a blank, that held shadows in the dark that sometimes whispered intuitive thoughts.

It was on a very early morning, so early it was still dark out, when the faintest noise in the corridor outside his cell drew his attention. He was at the bolted door in an instant, moving across the small space in utter silence. He glanced out into the dark beyond, and a small face appeared before him.

“Natalia?” The Asset rumbled in confusion, his voice rough from disuse.

The little girl’s eyes were clever and sharp as she looked up, so far up at him. “Your name is different.” 

He blinked, unsure what she meant, taken aback not just by her words, but also by her presence here. How did she even know where they kept him?

“Why do they call you ‘the Asset’?” She pressed, not bothered in the slightest that she was speaking to him through the iron bars of his cage.

The Asset’s shoulder lifted in the weak mimicry of a shrug. “That is what I am.”

Her face scrunched slightly. “That is not a name. You need a name.”

They stared at each other in the dark. The tiny four-year-old girl with flame-red hair and green eyes that seemed almost ancient in that pale, cherubic face. And the Asset, his face half-covered in the muzzle-like mask that he never took off, the rest of him clad in tactical gear. They were as different as it was possible for two people to be.

“I will call you Yasha.” The little Widow announced, lifting her chin slightly. “When they can’t hear.”

The name settled in the Asset’s chest like it had always lived there, feeling… almost warm. “Yasha?”

“Yes. You are Yasha.” With that, Natalia turned on her heel and walked away, vanishing into the shadows. The Asset watched in the direction she went, listening hard though even with his enhanced hearing, it was difficult to track her movements.

He absently tried the name she had given him, in his mind. _Yasha._

He had no memories of a home. He was not a person. A thing that was kept, not someone, not alive. But somehow, this name… made him more than an Asset.

More than what Hydra had given him.

When he was asked later, much, much later, to pinpoint the moment which led to his defection… it was that moment.

* * *

_November 1979_

A couple weeks passed, and Natalia managed to visit the Asset every night without being detected. She really was exceptional. Only sometimes did the Asset hear her coming, other times he would look up and she would be there, staring at him through the bars. She never stayed long, only precious minutes stolen in the dark. But the Asset began to expect them. To count on them. Even… to look forward to them. 

It was a foreign concept. Liking something. It was a dangerous thing, to like something. Because if he liked something, it could be taken from him.

Natalia used his name every time she saw him, and there was a thread of determination under her words that seemed to imply that she would never give it up. Never give _him_ up, either.

And so the Asset learned something, and he didn’t have a word for it for a long time. But when he did, he would call it _loyalty._

What he was for Hydra was all he had ever known. His mission was all he was true to. His handler ensured he felt the pain, fear, and anger necessary to function.

But Natalia taught him loyalty. And the Asset would lay down his very life if the little girl asked it of him.

* * *

“When will they come for the Asset? His teaching is almost over.”

“A few days. It won’t be like last time. His conditioning is beginning to weaken, after so long, but it has not broken like it did before. He will do as he is told, and leave quietly.”

The Asset heard the instructors, as they passed in the hall outside his cell just before lights out. He was tired. His mind was… perplexing and confused, not clear like it was when he first came to the Red Room to train the children. His thoughts struggled to remain on track, the little sleep he managed was marred by ever-stranger dreams, and images and flashes of things he didn’t understand kept popping into his head. It made no sense, it fatigued him, and a part of him almost looked forward to what came after the Chair (after the _pain_ ). The emptiness. The blank expanse of nothingness. His own mind frightened him.

“You are leaving.”

His head jerked up, startled. He hadn’t heard the little Widow approach this time, yet there she was just outside his doorway, looking slightly upset even despite her training to never reveal her emotions. 

“Yes.” The Asset answered, getting up from his bench and going to kneel at his door, eye to eye with Natalia. “Soon.”

“Why?”

“They are done with me.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Will they hurt you?”

“Yes. They always hurt me.” He wasn’t sure where the words had come from… but he still knew them to be true. It might have been the truest thing he knew of.

“Will you come back?” It was hard to tell if her words held more question or demand, and her eyes had gone somehow hard.

He sighed, just a little, the air feeling hot inside his mask. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t like that.” With that terse declaration, the little girl left.

The Asset leaned his forehead against the cold iron bars, closing his eyes. He was so tired. 

Why did he feel like he had done something wrong?


	3. A Taste Of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last demonstration for the Winter Soldier's pupils goes horribly wrong. Freedom is so close, for both of them. Natalia had planned it all, and the As—no, Yasha, had just followed her call.
> 
> This fills a square for rebelmeg's BBB, square B2 - Asset on the loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Name You Gave Me - Chapter 3: A Taste Of Freedom  
> Collaborator: rebelmeg  
> Square Filled: B2 - Asset on the loose  
> Ship: Bucky & Natasha  
> Rating: Mature  
> Major Tags: Hydra, Red Room, brainwashing, trauma, child abuse  
> Summary: One last demonstration for the Winter Soldier's pupils goes horribly wrong. Freedom is so close, for both of them. Natalia had planned it all, and the As—no, Yasha, had just followed her call.  
> Word Count: 3388

Two days later, the Asset—Yasha, he reminded himself firmly—was to be sent back to Hydra. His handler told him when he was let out of his cell that morning.

“The final lesson is today, Soldat. Teach them well.”

This final lesson was the only one the Asset had not been allowed to plan, merely given orders for. He was to teach the children how to kill without leaving a trace. 

His objective was clear. The means as well. Yet, he was not indifferent to it, as he should have been. Something was... off. 

The As—YASHA— stood in front of the children, none of the other instructors around for once. _“Overconfident,”_ a tiny voice spoke in the blankness of his mind that wasn't filled with orders. They believed their control over him was still strong enough that he’d obey unconditionally.

Behind the black muzzle, his lips did something strange. They twitched in the same way he had seen it happen on other people’s faces, a sort of smirk. He was suddenly aware that he had failed this mission. He knew reconditioning and the Chair would be unavoidable at this point, as soon as they found out.

His stare was far off, seeing a past which he couldn’t grab onto and a future which was not his.

When the door opened behind him, the target of the Asset's demonstration was brought in, and he snapped back into the present. 

“Asset, we brought the one you will make an example of.”

He didn’t respond. He was not expected to respond. No one talked _with_ him, only _to_ him. No one but little Natalia. The little Widow in training, who was so far ahead of the others. Who watched him with interest, not fear. The one who—the one who now was flung at his feet, blood trickling from a cut on her cheek.

“The little bitch thought she could sneak into the Headmistress’ office. She will serve one last purpose now.” The words were spoken in a derogatory sneer, a glint of excited malice in the eyes of the guard that had brought Natalia in.

The Asset looked down at the little Widow, at the flaming hair framing her carefully blank face. Only the deep green eyes showed something other than indifference. Her eyes, for the first time since he remembered, shimmered with resignation and fear. For the very first time, Natalia feared him.

Something snapped in the Asset. One moment he stood motionless in front of the girl who had given him a name, the next he held her securely against his chest, blood splattered everywhere but on her. He held a knife in his flesh hand, his metal one shielding the small body in front of him. Fluidly, he stepped over the fallen guard’s body, out of the training hall, and vanished into the shadows. 

Long corridors were conquered in a frantic run. He covered ground rapidly, meter by meter. Soon alarms went off and the floors were flooded in red light. Other instructors and guards filtered through the passages the Asset needed to take. The little girl squirmed and he felt cold lips near his neck.

It took him a moment until he heard her voice and understood her rapid-fire Russian words, “Left upstairs, right ten sections, down two, then right, there’s a tunnel behind a secret wall. I know the way. I found it for us.”

He paused for the smallest fraction of a moment. This girl had been wandering around, sneaking through the Red Room compound probably for weeks, not to sate her curiosity, or even solely to visit him... but to search out a way for him to flee. 

Without question, the Asset followed her instructions. Whenever they encountered a hostile, they fell silent too soon to alert someone else. He dodged when he heard the sound of the gun, and felt a streak of pain tear through his clothes. Thanks to his enhanced hearing and fast reflexes, it only nicked his right arm. The warm blood seeped into his sleeve, only for Natalia to press her nimble fingers firmly over the wound. 

The Asset continued his new mission, the pain sharpening his mind. His whole focus was trained on one thing: _Get the little girl out. Protect Natalia._

* * *

With gritted teeth and wide-open eyes, Natalia clung tightly to Yasha as he swiftly made his way through the facility, following her directions without question.

She had scouted the route countless times, running it in the dark night after night to ensure it was the fastest, safest way. She had never run it in the day, however, with everyone awake, and guards tight on their heels.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. If they failed, if Yasha was captured or killed, it would be her fault. It would be her fault, for letting curiosity take over. She had heard the guards talking with Yasha's handler, heard them talking about a book. A book that the handler used to control the Asset. Natalia had hoped that perhaps, if she found it... they could escape. She hadn't found the book. But she had found a file, with her name printed beguilingly on it.

She knew when she saw it that she shouldn't touch it. She had known that if she didn't leave then, she might get caught. But... she had always wondered...

And so she had looked.

 _It was my birthday last week, Yasha,_ she thought suddenly. _I have only been five for less than a week._

She didn't know if it was hope or fear that snarled so tightly in her chest, at the prospect that she might live to see another birthday. 

Natalia hadn’t realized she’d been counting the bodies Yasha dropped until the cold slap of outside air made her gasp, and with wide eyes, she realized that they’d made it. They’d managed to make it to the outside of the facility.

This was where her knowledge ended, and she said so to Yasha. She could sense the way he took over then, scanning their surroundings and taking out three more of their pursuers. She didn’t know why he picked the direction he did, but didn’t ask. He adjusted his hold on her, making sure she was tight to his chest as he started to run, dodging and zigzagging and changing direction erratically. She wondered for a moment why he hadn’t moved her to his back, that would have left his arms free to move so he could run faster, but realized a moment later that he’d never do that. If snipers took a shot at him, they’d be aiming for his back. Of course he wouldn’t put her there.

The cold was uncompromising, but not freezing. Not yet. The weak sunlight kept things just warm enough that Natalia didn’t shiver as she held onto Yasha with fierce determination. It was easy for her to be lulled by the steady pounding of his footsteps as he ran, and the sound of his breathing. She had probably never been safer in her life than she was at this moment, in the arms of the Winter Soldier and moving further away from the Red Room with every passing moment.

It occurred to her, as Yasha continued to run, his chest pumping and frosty breath pouring from his mouth, that even if they were killed now… they’d had the briefest taste of freedom first.


	4. Surviving With A Human Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being on their own proves difficult for Yasha and Natalia. But at least they have each other, and maybe, just maybe, Yasha is really free now. Natalia sure makes it sound that way.
> 
> This chapter fills rebelmeg's BBB square U1 - sleep deprivation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Name You Gave Me - Chapter 4: Surviving With A Human Heart  
> Collaborator: rebelmeg  
> Square Filled: U1 - sleep deprivation  
> Ship: Bucky & Natasha  
> Rating: Mature  
> Major Tags: Hydra, Red Room, brainwashing, trauma, child abuse  
> Summary: Being on their own proves difficult for Yasha and Natalia. But at least they have each other, and maybe, just maybe, Yasha is really free now. Natalia sure makes it sound that way.  
> Word Count: 4463

Was it supposed to be this hard? Was surviving supposed to be this hard? The Asset didn’t know, had no reference or experience to pull from. The needs of his body that he had at first been able to ignore now demanded his attention. Natalia was affected as well, no matter how she tried to hide it. They needed rest, and they needed shelter.

“You are tired.” He said as the stars began winking out above them, dawn slowly approaching in the east.

“I can keep going,” Natalia replied tersely, speeding up her steps slightly.

“I’m tired too.” A sharp pain in his middle distracted him briefly, and it caused him to look down at the little girl in concern. “We need food.”

The briefest flash of her eyes looking up told him all he needed to know. She was hungry too. And he saw that she was shivering under the old, too-large parka they had stolen from inside a tiny abandoned cabin they passed.

The Red Room Academy was far enough away from other populated areas so that they had their privacy, but thankfully close enough that shelter and food could be had. The Asset stole some supplies, and after he and Natalia had finally eaten, they hid themselves in an abandoned shed for the day. With her red hair, his metal arm, and the blood-stained clothes they wore, it was too risky to be seen. When night fell again, they would move on.

Natalia had settled immediately on the cold floor, curling in on herself under a rough, dusty tarp the Asset found. But she didn’t sleep. She seemed to be waiting for something.

“Why don’t you sleep?” He finally asked, after several long minutes.

“You.” She replied simply, watching him.

He didn’t know what to say to that, and just looked right back.

“Yasha, you have to sleep too. Lay down.”

Oh… right. He’d forgotten.

He made space for himself under the tarp, realizing that Natalia was shivering again now that they had stopped moving. Before he had a chance to pull her closer, she took care of it herself. She curled up against his side, her back to his ribs, and she was asleep very quickly. It took the Asset longer. Much longer.

Though he could feel the exhaustion pulling at him, making him ache and his eyes feel scratchy and irritated in the dim light that filtered through the cracks in the walls, he couldn’t relax. Every noise drew his attention, had him constantly poised to attack, and it was past midday when Natalia awoke.

She sat up, moving stiffly as though she hurt, and looked at him.

“You didn’t sleep.”

He found himself wanting to lie, to smooth away the tiny furrow of worry between her eyebrows. He couldn’t, though.

“No.”

Shifting around, Natalia crossed her legs and sat facing the door. “I’ll keep watch. You sleep.”

She must have sensed the protest he was about to make, because she fixed him with a fierce glare, her green eyes flashing.

“They will find me if I don’t have you. And if you don’t sleep, you will not be able to protect me. Sleep.”

Blinking several times, the Asset struggled to think of a counterargument. But… she was right. And he was too tired to fight her on it.

Lying back down, he curled his body towards Natalia, with her tucked against his stomach and surrounded by him with his head behind her and his legs in front. Arranging the tarp so that it covered them both, with corner tucked down for Natalia to see over, the Asset finally breathed a long, deep sigh.

Natalia twisted around, and the gentle touch of her hands on his face made him jump, but a moment later he felt the most peculiar sensation as she removed his mask. The air on his suddenly exposed skin was cold, and almost felt like a slap, and he gasped at it.

“There,” Natalia said, setting the muzzle aside. “You don’t belong to them anymore.”

For no reason that he could think of… tears came to the Asset’s eyes. Reaching out, he curled his arms around Natalia’s middle, and buried his face against the small of her back, trying to hide the way he was shaking.

Natalia didn’t say a word. She just put her hand on his knee, that small warm weight grounding him, and after the trembling stopped the Asset was finally able to fall asleep.

* * *

_December 1979_

They kept to that same pattern as the days slowly turned into a week, and then longer. They hid themselves during the day, finding any place that would shelter them until nightfall. Then, they continued on, slipping through the darkness and trying to put as much space between themselves and the Red Room and Hydra as they possibly could.

The Asset taught Natalia how to pickpocket, and she picked up the skill remarkably fast. When stealing food or other necessary items wasn’t possible, they would take turns picking pockets until they had enough money to purchase what they needed.

Clothes had been first. The Asset wasn’t as urgent, his clothes were black and hid most of the bloodstains well. But Natalia’s white shirt showed every stain, brown now that the blood had dried, and the stolen parka was clearly far too big for her, meant for an adult to wear. She needed new clothes immediately. They both needed coats and winter gear, and the barest survival equipment.

They headed northwest, towards the Baltic Sea. The Asset had a vague idea in mind, to somehow book passage out of the USSR and get somewhere else, somewhere safer. He would deal with the details later. For the moment, he just focused on keeping Natalia and himself alive.

Natalia was probably why the Asset was still going, honestly. If she hadn’t needed food, rest, warmth, shelter, he wasn’t sure he would have stopped to consider them. He wasn’t made to think that way. He was capable of going days without sustenance or rest, but it would leave him near non-functioning. Natalia’s needs made him remember his own, and it was the only way he survived.

The thought of that only cemented the bond he felt towards the tiny girl, and strengthened his resolve to protect her, to keep her away from Hydra. Her very existence kept the Asset alive, and he would repay that gift in any way he could.


	5. A List Of Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was that time of the year. People were decorating for Christmas in a few weeks, and the stores made all kinds of profits as everyone shopped for presents. But it was also the time of year when a very successful businessman put his life on hold and went on a quest. Howard Stark, leaving his family behind, is out once again to search for his greatest accomplishment: Captain America.
> 
> Chapter fills rebelmeg's BBB square U5 - Writing Format: Outsider POV and J's BBB square K4- Writing format: Outsider POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Name You Gave Me - Chapter 5: A List Of Sins  
> Collaborators: fightingforcreativity & rebelmeg  
> Squares Filled: fightingforcreativity, K4- Writing format: Outsider POV  
> rebelmeg, U5 - Writing Format: Outsider POV  
> Ship: Bucky & Natasha, minor Howard/Maria  
> Rating: Mature  
> Major Tags: Howard Stark's A+ parenting, obsession  
> Summary: It was that time of the year. People were decorating for Christmas in a few weeks, and the stores made all kinds of profits as everyone shopped for presents. But it was also the time of year when a very successful businessman put his life on hold and went on a quest. Howard Stark, leaving his family behind, is out once again to search for his greatest accomplishment: Captain America.  
> Word Count: 6476

Howard Stark was a busy man. He was a businessman, the owner of his own very successful company, an engineer, he dabbled in politics, and in the middle of all that, he had to search for his greatest creation, his best and purest achievement: _Captain America_. Howard was aware that he also had a brat to provide for and staff to pay. But his work took care of that. So, that left him the time to focus on his greatest, most enduring concern. Finding Steve. 

It was mid-December 1979 and he was packing again. He would cover Newfoundland and that part of the Atlantic Ocean first. Then his route would take him over to the Labrador Sea, and lastly he wanted to visit Greenland. He planned to stay away six weeks in total and had Jarvis take care of the arrangements. Obadiah Stane would take care of the company in Howard's absence, so he was all settled. Howard ordered his trunk to be taken to his car while he gave some last minute instructions to Jarvis and finished off his glass of scotch.

“I don’t want a repeat of last time, Jarvis. That boy has to finish his work and is not allowed anywhere near my workshop, am I understood?”

“Yes, sir. If you might allow me to speak to you as your friend now?” Inquired the butler, and longtime friend, of the Stark household.

“Make it quick, Edwin. I’m leaving shortly.”

“If you should not find Captain Rogers this time... take a break, Howard. You’ve been searching for him since he crashed. You should give yourself and your family a break.”

Howard's eyes narrowed, his face closed off and a general thunderous look settled on his handsome features. “Did Tony put you up to this?”

Jarvis was completely unimpressed by his friend and employer’s behavior and simply answered, “No, this is coming from me alone.”

For a long minute they watched each other carefully. Howard, in the end, relented with an annoyed huff and turned on his heel, handing his empty glass to Jarvis. Over his shoulder he shot a quick goodbye and vanished to his car.

He didn’t say goodbye to his son. He never did.

* * *

Howard was on his plane and off it again sooner then he had expected, but that was good. It meant he had more time to dedicate to his search. He got onto the ship he had hired for this leg of the search in no time, and was finally on his way to the more icy waters he had his mind set on. 

Day in and day out he sat in his cabin, taking notes on the most likely places, crossing out latitudinal lines they had passed already, or were most unlikely given where they assumed the Valkyrie had gone down. The crew he hired, this year young Inuits from Newfoundland and an old experienced captain, worked tirelessly aboard the ship, covering miles upon miles. 

They had been at it for two weeks when the men asked for a night off in a harbor close by. Howard's first instinct was to say no. They didn’t have _time_ for a night off, not with the seas getting rougher and their window of further exploration slowly closing. For one irrational, angry moment, Howard wanted to rage at the captain that had brought it up, scream at him until he understood. Howard had been searching for _thirty years_. Thirty years of failure after failure, compounded upon each other until every one of those years seemed to stretch out in a flat expanse of effort that had all come to nothing.

He was getting _old_. He could feel it, in his aching bones and trembling flesh. He was already sixty-two years old, how had time passed so quickly and yet so slowly? He wouldn’t be able to continue this, to make these trips every year, spending weeks on a rocking ship with sometimes questionable hygiene, so far away from land. If Howard didn’t find Steve soon… would he die without ever fulfilling that promise to himself, to find him at all costs?

He had already sacrificed so much...

He agreed to the night off. Reluctantly. But he could see from the tired faces of the crew that they needed a break, time to let loose and drink and carouse before resuming their voyage. They were all excited, even the old captain, but Howard followed them all off the ship with a cloud hanging over his head, and a clock ticking away ominously in his mind.

They ended up in a local bar, all maritime and homey. Other folks from local ships were drinking their nightcaps with some pretty girls. Howard found a seat away from the others and took a well-worn leather journal out of the pocket of his coat. He didn’t open it just yet, but felt the leather under his fingertips. The draft in the bar chilled his fingers quickly, but he ignored it in favor of the journal and the scotch he'd ordered. Not that it was good quality alcohol like he’d brought with him on the ship, but it did its job.

He contemplated the journal as he stared at it. He’d purchased it a long time ago, sometime during the second search he’d conducted, looking for Steve. He hadn’t even known what he was going to do with it when he bought it, but after that second failed search… this journal had become the record of his sins. 

He opened it, a little, sliding his thumb along the edge of the pages, one hand-written page after another flickering past. He could catch a word here and there, a name. There were five names in the book. Just five. Steve, Peggy, Jarvis, Maria… and Tony.

Letters that would never be sent. Never be seen. Explanations, apologies, and the occasional plea for forgiveness. All the ways he’d failed the people closest to him, written in this book so they would stop being so heavy in his heart. There weren’t very many pages left. Perhaps this book knew, just as Howard did, that his time was growing short.

Suddenly he heard shuffling close by, and the scrape of a chair. Looking sideways, Howard found the captain of the ship looking at him, nodding to the chair across from him in question. Howard shrugged. They sat together for some time, drinking their respective drinks, minds on their own thoughts. Then the captain spoke, voice rough and raspy, like that only an old man can have, “What’s with that book, Stark? A log?”

He didn’t know why, but for some reason Howard felt compelled to answer. “No. Letters. Letters to my loved ones.”

“Hm?” The captain’s bushy eyebrows raised, and Howard could see that the man was surprised. He’d probably figured that Howard didn’t have loved ones. A lot of people assumed that.

“My son.” He clarified, gathering up the journal and putting it back into his pocket.

“You’ve got a son? How old is he?”

This was why Howard had hired these people, they didn’t know much about him. They didn’t view him as the showmaster he pretended to be. They didn’t expect this mission to be successful, even. They just wanted payment for their work, and a good time. It didn’t stop Howard from tensing, though, at being asked questions.

“Four.” He replied shortly.

“He smart like you?”

Howard snorted, so used to getting this question, so tired of hearing it. “Supposedly.”

The captain looked taken aback, and Howard felt something like shame fill him. He clenched his teeth for a moment, then slowly blew out a breath through his nose, and replied. “Yeah. He’s smart. Brilliant, even. Maybe more than me.”

Chuckling, the captain slapped his back jovially. “That’s pretty hard to imagine, I won’t lie. How does your wife handle the both of you?”

“With grace and patience,” Howard replied instantly, not having to think about it at all. “She adores the boy. He looks like me, but acts like her. Loves music like she does, too.”

“Sounds like a lovely boy. The missus and you must be very proud of that lad.”

Howard hadn’t even realized, until just that moment, that he’d been talking about Maria. Talking about her as if she were still alive, like she was just waiting for him at home. What a cruel lie that was.

Looking at the three fingers of whiskey he still had in his glass, he downed the entirety of it before answering, leaving his answer vague. “Mrs. Stark isn’t around anymore. But she loves the boy fiercely. More than she could ever have loved me.”

The captain clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically. “That’s some tough shit, Mr. Stark.”

“Howard.”

“Well, it's still shit, Howard.” The captain turned to a barmaid, flagging her to them. “Sweetheart, another of that scotch and a jack for me.”

“Sure. Right away.”

Neither of the men said anything else until they had their drinks. Then the captain raised his glass in a toast, “Here’s to past loves and lovely sons!”

Howard raised his glass with a faint half-smile, no emotion other than emptiness inside him. “Cheers.”

The night ended with them talking and drinking till dawn, and even then they only left to go to bed because the bartender refused to serve them anymore. When Howard finally sat, stupidly drunk, in his rented bed, he took the journal back out of his pocket, and opened it with shaking fingers. He turned the pages one by one, catching snippets of his own writing, his eyes lingering at the tops of the pages.

 _Dear Steve… Dear Peggy… Dear Steve… Dear Jarvis… Dear Peggy… Dear Maria… Dear Tony…_ on and on and on, over and over and over.

Once he reached a blank page, Howard was already reaching for a pen, and he held the journal open against his knee as he started to write.

_Dear Tony,  
I’ve been on my search for two weeks now, and it looks like yet another failure of mine. Just like so many of my projects.  
A lot of these days now, I wonder if there is anything I’ve ever done right? Steve was one of those things, I know. The drive to find him, to show you my second greatest creation, one of the two only things I am certain I didn’t screw up, is what pulls me away from you every time.  
You can be certain, son, that there hasn’t been a day that I haven’t thought about you. I never say it to you, whenever I feel strong enough my mouth says something different than what I wanted to tell you, but I am proud to have such a bright son as you. I hope one day I will come back from those searches and finally introduce you to Steve. Then you can be proud of having me as your father. I don’t understand why we can’t work it out.  
I know you want to make me proud, I do. It’s just…. I see so much of myself in you… I don’t like myself much, and I’m letting that out on you.  
I’m aware I’m harsh and strict, but I do it for your own good, son. I know one day you’ll understand. Because you can’t be another failure of mine, Tony. You can’t. And so I know, **I know** , the way I’m raising you is the right way. You are the only thing I’m doing right, I’m sure of that.  
I’m glad that Jarvis is taking care of you._

Howard stared at the page for a long while, tempted, as he always was, to cross out every single word, to tear the page out and rip it to shreds. But he didn’t. He closed the book, and put it carefully on the small nightstand next to the bed as he lay down. Then finally, just as the sun started to come up and send thin shafts of sunlight through the worn, dirty curtains, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.


	6. Checking In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As time passes and his search continues to yield no results (again), Howard swings between anger and grief. A call home lifts his spirit some, but not much. Maybe it's time to give up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Howard chapter, but don't worry! We'll hook back up with Yasha and Natalia soon! And enjoy your first peek at tiny Tony.

The following days weren’t kind to Howard and the crew. It was as if the sea was angry with them. One storm after the other, high waves crashing against their flanks and no chance to set sail. Howard was frustrated and snapped at the crew again and again. Day turned to night, night to day, yet they weren’t able to cover nearly enough distance. According to Howard’s plan, they were set back by a whole week when the storm finally broke. He knew that the crew was exhausted from their fight against the sea. Yet the pleas for another night in a harbor were refused and they continued on.

By the time Christmas rolled around, it was clear that, once again, the search wouldn’t be successful. Howard removed Greenland from his plans, buying them half a week to search more of the sea. And, Howard was told, at least two days rest for the crew so they could phone home for Christmas. The captain even wrestled him towards the phone box to make his own calls.

Howard wasn’t aware of how much his hands shook when he dialed his own line. He wasn’t sure why he felt dreadful calling home, but he did.

The line crackled with static and in the back of his mind he started to invent new ways of communication, listed ways of improving the one right in front of him, when finally a smooth British lilt answered, “Stark Household, Jarvis speaking. Please state your name and how I may assist you.”

A fast smirk whispered over Howard’s face. Jarvis, his old friend, was efficient like that. It sounded like a pleasant, demure and polite question, but it was a demand. Chuckling lowly, puffing out white clouds in the freezing air, Howard spoke quietly, “Here, here my friend. You can indeed assist me. Tell me how SI is doing? The stocks are up? Has Stane sent in the end of year report yet? How is Agent Carter-Sousa, and how is her project going?”

“Ah, sir. Indeed, SI is doing wonderfully well, the reports are all awaiting you upon your return. Mrs. Carter-Sousa is fine. She stopped by, to give young Tony a Christmas gift and let him show her some of the ballet he’s been learning at practice. They went together to the shooting range.”

So Howard didn’t need to ask how his son was doing. He sighed in relief, since asking about the boy was always uncomfortable. “That sounds good, overall. Any bad news so far?”

“None so far, sir. Everything going accordingly for you?”

A vague sigh left his lips. Howard leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. “Not really, Jarvis. Could be that I stay away longer. You’ll get a telegram if nothing else. But I need to get back now.”

“Stay safe, sir, and Merry Christmas.”

“Yes, Merry Christmas…”

And the line went dead. Later, Anthony would ask who called Jarvis from their get-together in the living room. Jarvis would hug the child and say that his father wished them Merry Christmas. 

Meanwhile Howard would sit with his poison of the night and drink away the emptiness, sitting with the captain, listening to stories of his time sailing around in Europe and the beautiful women he bedded there.

* * *

_January 1980_

Another week passed, the new year rolled in with the ship’s crew watching the fireworks in the distance, popping and flashing far away on the shore. 

And then another week, the last week of the expedition, and Howard knew that they wouldn't get any more horizontal lines covered, so he ordered the captain to enter a harbor and stay there. Howard didn’t answer the captain's inquiry if he would return home now. Instead he went into the first post office he came to and telegraphed Jarvis.

_Jarvis, I’m well. Please send my plane and money to Nain Airport, Canada. I will travel to Europe and stay for a few weeks before coming home._

* * *

Jarvis read over the few short sentences of Howard’s telegram over and over. He had already done what was asked of him, and arranged for funds and a plane, and some supplies that the man had likely forgotten about. 

Still, he felt a sense of dread reading those words. He knew that the search had been unsuccessful, as all the others had been, and every new failure put Howard in a worse temper. Jarvis just hoped that by the time the man returned, he had been able to blow off enough steam that he wouldn’t let it out on his son. 

The boy who was currently sitting by Jarvis’ side in the kitchen, munching a chocolate chip cookie from a batch that Ana had made just that morning, watching the butler with curious and bright eyes.

“Is Father coming home soon?” He asked, and Jarvis wondered how he’d been able to tell who the telegram was from.

He smiled and ruffled Tony’s hair, noting that it needed a trim. “In a few weeks, perhaps.”

“Did he find what he was looking for?”

“No. I’m afraid not.”

They were silent for a moment, and Tony’s little feet swung as he finished his cookie and milk. “Jarvis? Why is he always angry when he comes home?”

Jarvis sighed as he took Tony’s cup and plate to the sink. “Because he’s very disappointed, young sir. And discouraged. It’s hard to be in a good mood when you try to do something and don’t succeed.”

Tony nodded, something about him far wiser than his four years, despite the cookie crumbs and smears of chocolate around his mouth. “Like when I don’t do my lessons right.”

Jarvis smiled at him, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping that little face clean. “Something like that, yes. Now, Ana said something about you helping her with dinner if you were good for your Latin tutor.”

Beaming, Tony scooted off his chair and nodded, all but dancing in place. “Yes! We’re gonna make lasagna!”

“Best be off, then. Be good and work hard. Remember, you’re very smart, but you still have a lot to learn.”

With a quick, tight hug around his leg, Tony was off like a shot, and Jarvis watched after him with a very fond smile on his face. He caught a glimpse of the telegram on the counter again, and sighed. If only Howard were able to see what Jarvis did.

They’d all be happier if that were the case.


	7. Chance Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard comes across an unsuccessful pickpocket and a man wearing an impossible face while he visits Poland at the ship captain's recommendation.
> 
> This chapter crosses off rebelmeg's BBB square K1 - undercover as tourists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Name You Gave Me - Chapter 7: Chance Meeting  
> Collaborator: rebelmeg  
> Square Filled: K1 - undercover as tourists  
> Ship: Bucky & Natasha  
> Rating: Mature  
> Major Tags: Bucky remembering  
> Summary: Howard comes across an unsuccessful pickpocket and a man wearing an impossible face while he visits Poland at the ship captain's recommendation.  
> Word Count: 8838

Poland was a fluke choice of Howard’s. He should have gone somewhere less… Communistic. In his haste to get away from his latest failure, he hadn’t thought about the political climate. So here he was, in his downgraded, well-used clothing, freezing while wandering the Danks town, a flat cap halfway obscuring his face.

True to the captain's word though, he found lovely ladies here and there. He was grateful for his many contacts all over the world, because it meant he was capable of speaking enough Polish to be seen as a traveler from the south. 

He was reminded why he didn't frequently pose as a "normal" person on his travels when he was on his way to a middle-class hotel. A child bumped into him and he felt small nimble fingers trying to unfasten his wristwatch. Unfortunately for the girl, the clasp was a specially made mechanism, only he could open it with his thumb print. Howard yanked his arm away as soon as he felt the tug on his wrist, but he wasn’t in the mood to call the police or deal with the aftermath. So he just sneered at the redheaded child and checked if he still had his wallet. He found everything in place and walked away, stifling the urge to shout at her as she ran away. 

Unbeknownst to him, the whole incident would later rock the entire foundation of his world.

* * *

Natalia was furious as she made her way back to where Yasha was waiting, staying out of sight himself while she threaded through the crowds towards him.

“What’s wrong, mladshaya sestra?” He asked, noting the way her green eyes were snapping with anger.

“I got caught,” She spat, nearly flinging a few wallets out of her pockets.

Dread and panic immediately swamped Yasha, but the little girl just waved her hand impatiently. “He did not tell anyone. But he saw me. His watch did not come off.”

Yasha had been who he was for too long to leave it at that.

“Show me.” He demanded quietly, and clearly Natalia had been expecting this, because she led Yasha right to the man in question, through a warren of alleyways and sidestreets. They hid in the shadows of an alley, and Natalia nodded towards the man as he crossed the street, coming nearer to them, his eyes on the ground.

“That one. Gray hair, mustache.”

For one moment, it meant nothing. Just another face, another person, someone Yasha automatically scrutinized, looking for weapons on his person, threatening body language, physical tells of what movements he might make next.

But then the man lifted his head, looking at a sign on one of the buildings, and Yasha’s breath caught.

That face… Yasha knew that face. And not just because he’d seen it on the news, but because he _knew_ it. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, something in there knew and remembered that face, recalled the name Howard Stark, and now the man was standing almost close enough to touch, close enough to kill. 

Natalia had become aware the moment Yasha noticed Stark, because he had taken an involuntary step forward. After a moment of looking up at him in confusion, she tugged sharply on Yasha’s hand. It was enough to shake him from his stupor, and Yasha slid back into the shadows, letting Stark pass by them unknowingly. But Yasha didn’t take his eyes off the man. No… he needed… to know. He needed information that Stark might be able to give. Information about how the Asset had recognized him.

And so Yasha followed him.

* * *

It only took once, one instance of the Asset slipping away to tail Stark, before Natalia figured it out.

“Yasha, who was that man.”

She was not asking a question. She was demanding an answer, and Yasha’s face twitched, almost in a wince, as he tried to decide whether or not he could lie to her.

“Do not lie to me.”

Alright then.

“I… think I knew him. From before.”

“Before Hydra?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

Yasha tugged at his faint memories, the fractured pieces he’d been trying to put together from the moment he’d seen Stark’s face. “I think he was a scientist. In the war. I worked with him, maybe?”

“And he is still alive?”

“He was young then. Like me.”

“You are still young, Yasha.”

 _I’m not_ , he thought to himself, something in his chest feeling achy and hollow. _I am old, wretched and bent with suffering and bad memories._

“Do not sneak off again. If you leave, you will tell me.”

He had been avoiding her gaze, but finally Yasha met Natalia’s expectant gaze. It was proper to look in someone’s eyes when you made a promise. “I will.”

“I will be lost without you, rodnoy brat. Do not make it so that you leave me.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

* * *

Howard developed a routine for the following week. Getting up early, eating out. Meeting a beauty here and there, getting the stress out of his system wherever it suited them. Somewhere in between he would stand still for a few seconds and just listen, while looking intently at a shop window display. Sometimes he was able to pick up faint rustling sounds, or the reflection of someone pointedly staring at him. But it was always too fleeting to pinpoint.

After a few more days of playing the part of the average tourist, he had enough. Howard started his day like always. But this time he loaded his gun and slipped it into the waistband of his pants at the back. This time he made sure to ring the mansion back home. Making it sound like a usual check-in, but using code phrases and ending the call with, “My regards to Pegs,” making sure to alert them. He wasn't about to take chances. After all that, he went out. 

Again he felt eyes on him, again he went about his day like before. Checking the town market, purchasing a few pointless trinkets that the tourists favored, flirting here and there with some pretty girls and pushing a wad of cash to some others. Around noon, Howard was done with the farce. He deliberately ducked into an alley which could be used as a shortcut to his hotel, but was rather dark and deserted. As soon as he was in the middle of the alley, he whirled around. 

But there was no one to be seen. Squinting in the half-lit area, Howard huffed and thought, _You think you can pull the wool over my eyes? Well… are you in for a surprise!_

Aloud he said in a calm, steadfast voice backed with iron, “Come on. I know you’re here. Show yourself, and tell me why you’ve been following me.”

It took nearly a full minute until someone moved, but Howard didn't budge. He just waited, standing stock-still with his eyes peeled until finally, cautiously, someone emerged step by step out of the shadows. Inch by inch revealing more from themselves. When the other man stood, so that Howard could see, he stared open-mouthed, wide-eyed. Because what he saw in front of him, _who_ he saw, couldn’t be.

* * *

It became obvious the moment their eyes met, that Yasha was not the only one startled with recognition. Stark’s eyes flared wide, his jaw dropped, and there were several seconds of stunned silence before the man stammered, “S-Sergeant Barnes?”

Yasha’s eyebrows contracted at hearing those words, something flickering in his memory. That... had been him. But not anymore.

Stark stepped forward, disbelief and some kind of wild hope on his face, and that was too much. Without a sound, Yasha disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations for those of you that don't speak Russian!
> 
> mladshaya sestra - little sister / kid sister  
> rodnoy brat - brother / blood brother


	8. Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasha can’t get the words- the name- out of his head. _Barnes_. The man, Stark, he knew him and apparently, if he could believe his restless mind, Yasha knew him as well. If he could just— “Yasha, I’m hungry.”

It kept happening.

As much as Yasha was terrified of being found, being seen, being recognized by Stark, he could not stop following him. Nor could he stop hearing the words in his head, echoing over and over. _Sergeant Barnes?_

Natalia was worried. Her eyes, always so watchful and solemn, saw everything. The way he got twitchy on the mornings he tried not to leave, before finally giving in. How he would return at night, after Stark went back to his hotel, exhausted and jumpy. He wasn’t sleeping. It took so much effort to eat.

“Things are not alright.” Natalia finally told him, after it had been two long weeks of this elaborate cat and mouse game, in which Yasha had no idea if he was the cat or the mouse. Stark had seen him three more times, calling him that name, Sergeant Barnes, and every time it was like uncomfortable itching in his brain.

Yasha sighed as the little Widow looked at him, not able to meet her gaze. “I can’t stop.”

“Then we will leave.”

He didn’t think he could do that either.

Finally, Yasha was forced to realize that things had to change. He was gone all day, tracking Stark, watching for… something. He didn’t even know what. 

It wasn’t until he got back late that night to the abandoned, rundown shack that he and Natalia had been living in, that he realized he had forgotten to get food. 

She was already looking at the door as he entered the shack, a hint of eagerness on her face. Which, given how much of her training had been spent on hiding and controlling emotion, meant she was excited to see him. For a moment, Yasha didn't understand. Was she excited to show him something? 

"I'm glad you're back. I was worried."

Yasha ducked his head, feeling guilty that he'd been gone so long. Stark had stayed out longer than usual after dinner, slowly meandering around the town before finally going back to his hotel, one of the local women on his arm. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Good. What did you bring? I'm hungry."

At that, Yasha froze. 

He had been so busy watching Stark, so consumed with tailing him, that he hadn't done anything else.

Natalia had eaten nothing since breakfast, before the sun was even up, and Yasha had nothing to give her.

He was not taking care of her. He was not even there during the day to protect her. He was failing, and it was hurting Natalia.

It took her some time to coax the words out of him, to understand what had happened. And it felt like knives in his skin to see the briefest flash of disappointment in her eyes, before her training took over and she steeled herself, almost imperceptibly, to endure the long, hungry night.

“Tell me what to do, mladshaya sestra.” Yasha begged of her, on his knees in front of the little girl with his head bowed, voice shaking. “I do not trust myself. Tell me what to do.”

It was dangerous, and they both knew it. Yasha was not Hydra’s anymore, but neither was he his own person. Natalia still had to remind him sometimes to eat, to bathe, to sleep, to care for himself. Giving the little girl the power to make this decision could be very bad indeed.

Natalia didn’t falter, though, and she managed to give them direction while still giving Yasha a choice.

“Talk to him, or we leave now. Decide.”

* * *

Yasha didn’t sleep that night as he considered it, trying not to hear the way Natalia’s stomach rumbled with hunger. But by morning, he had made his decision, and he told her the moment she opened her eyes.

“I will talk to him. Tonight.”

Natalia just nodded, her eyes heavy with sleep. “Good. I will get food. You stay here.”

Yasha almost protested (he was already itching to go wait for Stark to come out of his hotel), but he knew Natalia was right. He needed to stop this.

He stayed in the shack all day. Natalia didn’t take long to get food, stealing some and buying more, watching Yasha until he ate all of his. Once or twice they played a game, trading words in different languages, to keep their skills sharp and to pass the time. Yasha spoke Russian and English, like Natalia, and he also spoke Hungarian, French, and some Spanish. Natalia spoke Polish and she had been working on Cantonese as well before they left. Yasha had found a book once, sitting abandoned on a bench, a Swedish language translation book. They quizzed each other, learning basic Swedish together, but the rest of the time they sat in the quiet, listening. Their training had taught them this skill, how to be still, the second thing they had ever learned. Their first skill had been unquestioning obedience.

At last, dark fell, and Yasha got ready to leave.

“When I come back, we will go.” He promised Natalia, kneeling on the floor so he was eye-level with her. He held her hand in his, giving it a squeeze, trying to reassure her that he would be fine.

“You will be safe.” She told him, leaving no room for disagreement.

With a nod, Yasha left.


	9. Both Or None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasha keeps his promise to Natalia and talks with the man who could be the key to his past. And Howard? Howard seizes the opportunity presenting itself to him, despite the extra... baggage.

It was different this time. Howard had felt it all day long. Not only was his impossible shadow missing, but once darkness fell and Barnes did come back, he didn’t hide as he had before.

In fact, as soon as Howard had walked far enough away from one of the taverns he had been in, Barnes even let Howard see him. He hovered just at the mouth of an alley, making eye contact just once before slipping back into the shadows.

Howard knew it was probably stupid to follow him, but he did anyway. These past weeks of hide and seek were starting to get to him, and he had lost patience with the game.

Barnes was waiting for him, still halfway in the dense dark of the alley, but still visible enough that Howard found him instantly. It was… eerie. This Barnes, however he was here, looking a mere few years older than when he’d been last time Howard had seen him, he was different. Almost like something had hollowed him out, and something else put inside. What had happened to him in the past thirty-five years?

Tonight, maybe Howard would get his chance to find out. And maybe... it would lead him to Steve.

“You’re letting me see you this time.” Howard started, hoping Barnes didn’t spook and disappear again. He didn’t disappear, but he didn’t reply either. Howard had to fight back a surge of annoyance. “Why now?”

Barnes' voice was deep, rumbly and rough, more so than Howard remembered, and with a heavy Russian accent that he didn’t recognize. “I promised.”

“Promised who?”

No answer.

Fine, then. Howard could do the talking. “Do you remember me?”

“ _Da._ ”

“How are you alive?”

“Hydra.”

A faint shiver ran up Howard’s spine, alongside a wave of hatred. _Hydra_. They had taken _everything_ from him, his greatest accomplishment, his friend. 

Apparently they took everything from Barnes, too. 

Howard had wondered. Suspected, even, when no body was recovered, nothing but blood on the snow in that ravine. And if his assumptions were correct, if Zola had really experimented on Barnes like he thought, and if Barnes really had been alive all the time, Howard hoped against hope that Barnes was only kept in a prison in Russia somewhere and not used in some sick experiments. It wasn’t looking good, though. Not with the way Barnes’ eyes managed to look haunted, though they were mostly in shadow.

“What are you doing here?” Howard asked, edging just a bit closer, testing the boundaries of this unexpected meeting.

“I escaped.”

“From Hydra? How?”

“Luck.”

“What will you do now?”

For the first time, Howard could actually sense some kind of emotional reaction from the unnaturally still figure in front of him. It was even on his face, half-hidden by long, unkempt brown hair. Barnes was confused, uncertain. He didn’t know what he was doing next.

Maybe… Howard’s mind spun with possibilities, the idea that this could be the opportunity of a lifetime. Where he had failed to find Steve, he had found Cap’s best friend, who everyone thought was dead. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t even wanted to think about it, but ever since that first time he saw Barnes, he had been toying with this idea. To finally bring _something_ home from one of his fruitless searches. A paltry offering, perhaps, in comparison to the man he’d been searching for. But something nonetheless.

“Come with me. Back to the States. I can provide for you, Sergeant. We can get you treatment and keep you safe, back home where you belong.”

It had been in the back of his brain for weeks, this offer, sometimes even on the tip of his tongue when he caught a glimpse of Barnes out of the corner of his eye, and now it was finally out there. And rather than disappearing again, fleeing into the dark, Barnes actually answered him.

“You mean that?”

The uncertainty in his voice struck a chord in Howard, and despite his excitement and distant sense of despair, he forced himself to be patient, to be friendly. So his voice was soft when he replied, “Sure, pal. I know we weren't best friends back then, but you are still a friend of mine.”

“ _Nyet! On byl ne ya. Ya ne on. Ya ne Barnes._ ” Barnes spat the words out, and even took a step forward. It was the most life Howard had seen in him so far, and he held his hands up as he backed up.

“Whatever you just said, pal, I’m sorry but I only understood half of it. Listen, we can get that all sorted. I don’t know why Hydra had you, or what they did to you. But I know I can help, so let me help. I _promise_ I’ll help you.” Howard was desperate, and it was coming out in his words, his voice. He couldn’t fail this time. He just couldn’t. After all, he had failed Steve _again_ by not finding him. If he couldn’t bring Barnes back, he would fail Steve all over again, twice in less than a month. He couldn't handle that.

There were long seconds of silence, the two men looking at each other through the dark. Finally though, Barnes answered, in heavily-accented English again. “Fine… come. Remember. You promised.”

With that the shadow of Howard’s former friend and ally led them out of the main city and to the outskirts. Howard was healthy, used to being active, but it was quite a walk and the area they were in was slightly uphill and covered with scrub brush, difficult to pass through. After a while, during which Howard was almost positive they doubled back on their own path at least a few times, Barnes finally stopped by a shabby, deserted shack, nearly obscured in the shadows.

“Wait.” He ordered, glancing at Howard to be sure he stayed where he was, before approaching the shack. He whistled, a quick, sharp tune, and waited.

After what felt like ages (Howard was getting extremely impatient now), the door cracked open.

* * *

Holding out his hand, Yasha waited, looking into the darkness within the shack. He knew Natalia was looking at him, and at Stark, assessing the situation. He’d let her take as long as she needed, knowing she trusted him. 

It took several long moments, and Yasha could feel the other man’s confusion turning into impatience. But finally, Natalia crept out of the shadows within the shack and put her small hand in his.

“That… is… that’s… yours?” Stark stammered, looking stunned.

“In whatever way matters.” Yasha replied softly, not taking his eyes off Natalia.

“You can’t… you can’t bring her back with us. That’s… impossible.”

Yasha’s gaze didn’t waver, boring into Natalia’s steady green eyes so she could see the truth and the resolve in his. “Then neither do I.”

It was… something he couldn’t quite name, to sense Stark looking between Yasha and Natalia as if trying to make sense out of it. _Funny_ , something in the back of his mind whispered, and yes. That was it. It was funny. He couldn’t remember anything being funny before.

Natalia’s hand twitched in his, and he squeezed back slightly.

“But she’s… a _kid_.” Stark’s voice sounded somehow dismissive and disgusted, and Yasha felt a tingle down his spine that made his metal hand curl into a fist. He didn’t answer, though. He had said all he needed, and now he fixed a hard, unyielding stare at the man, challenging him. Daring him to walk away.

Stark looked again between the two of them as if expecting something to change. When it became apparent to him that it would not, he sighed and frowned.

“Fine. Bring her. What’s one more kid in the house, anyway.”

Yasha had no idea what he meant by that, but he didn’t ask. Senses alert and searching for danger, he held Natalia’s hand tight in his and after taking a very deep, slow breath… followed Stark.

"You trust him?" Natalia whispered under hear breath, the Russian words almost inaudible, but Yasha's sharp hearing caught it.

"No. But I trust his desperation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translation: 
> 
> Nyet! On byl ne ya. Ya ne on. Ya ne Barnes. - No! He was not me. I am not him. I am not Barnes.


	10. Welcome to Stark Mansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling from Poland to the US took forever, but that couldn’t have prepared Natalia and Yasha for what awaited them on the other side. Upon seeing the grandiose manor and being lead to their equally lustrous rooms, they find themselves second-guessing. Yes, Stark promised to help them and keep them safe, but… There were more questions than answers and neither liked that. Especially concerning a certain young boy.

_February 1980_

It took many hours for them to travel from Poland to New York, and it felt as if Stark’s eyes were on Yasha and Natalia the whole time, giving them hardly an opportunity to speak. They boarded a private plane in Gdansk, made a stop in Dublin, and then made the long journey across the ocean to finally land in New York. Stark insisted that Yasha and Natalia stay on the plane the entire time, not letting them out during the refueling in Dublin, or once they landed in New York. Not until a long black car pulled up into the hangar they were waiting in, and a thin, elderly man waved from the driver’s seat.

Stark ushered them quickly into the car, giving orders to the driver, Jarvis, and they were on the move again. The windows in the back of the car were quite dark, and Yasha suspected that they were impenetrable from the outside. Stark was hiding them. Yasha would have to discover exactly why.

The mansion that they arrived at not long after was almost imposing in its grandeur, and Yasha knew Natalia shared his apprehension in the way she slipped her hand into his as they got out of the car and stared up at the multi-story building. It was frighteningly reminiscent of the Red Room, and Stark waited impatiently at the door while the two of them slowly approached.

“Courage,” Natalia whispered in Russian, and Yasha wasn’t sure if the reminder was for him or herself. He took it to heart anyway, steadying his breathing, straightening his shoulders, and he walked through the ornate double doors at the top of the steps with his jaw set and his eyes forward.

The inside of the mansion matched the exterior, just as grand and intimidating. Even the floor looked far too expensive to walk on, but Yasha didn’t silence the way his heavy boots made noise on it. Stark was ahead of them, speaking to the driver that was obviously also a butler, handing off his coat, hat, and gloves and asking about dinner.

“Find them somewhere to sleep, they’ll be staying here for the time being.”

The butler nodded, and disappeared quickly to attend to his duties as Stark waved Yasha and Natalia forwards.

Yasha almost missed it, but as he walked through the huge, open space and towards the stairs, he caught a hint of movement. He could see Natalia’s head turn as well, noticing it too.

A door along the far wall was cracked open, and half of a small face peered around it. One large, dark eye watched them as little fingers curled around the edge of the door, a lock of brown hair falling over a forehead.

A child. No bigger than Natalia. Did Stark have a child?

When he saw them watching him, the child shrank back, nearly disappearing from view. 

Yasha turned his face away, refocusing on the man ahead of him that he still only vaguely remembered, despite the long plane ride spent in his presence, listening to Stark talk and reminisce about old days. But as they climbed the stairs, Yasha sent one more glance over his shoulder.

The child was still peeking around the door at them, both eyes visible this time, and even from this distance it was easy to read the curiosity on his face.

* * *

Yasha and Natalia weren’t left alone until late that night, and it had been like a constant buzz under his skin, to be on guard for so long. Stark had brought them to his study, talking about many things, most of which Yasha didn’t understand or remember, the words both flying over his head and slowly suffocating him at the same time. The butler, Jarvis, came back after an hour, announcing that dinner was ready, as were the rooms that were prepared for their guests.

There was no sight of the child from before, not through the entire meal, though Stark did ask Jarvis at one point if “Tony” had been behaving himself, his tone disinterested as he took generous sips of scotch. Dinner was awkward and uncomfortable, though not for Stark. He continued to talk, as if he didn’t care about whether or not Yasha contributed to the conversation, and it was a relief to be led away from the table and to their rooms.

“You sure you won’t stay?” Stark had asked, refilling his glass for the seventh time. “Jarvis can take her to her room and keep an eye on her.” He waved a hand at Natalia dismissively, and Yasha saw the way her eyes narrowed slightly. He was almost tempted to tell Stark about the mistake he was making, to think so little of a Black Widow, no matter how young.

“She goes where I go,” Yasha said shortly, his patience and ability to cope wearing thin, and he saw the brief flash of irritation before Howard took another drink and shrugged.

“Whatever you want. Jarvis, see that they have what they need.”

The butler bowed to them, and gestured to the door. “I’d be happy to escort you, Sergeant Barnes and Miss Natalia.”

Even with his tactical skills and enhanced memory, it was still difficult for Yasha to remember the way from the dining room to the two doors Jarvis stopped at a few minutes later. The mansion was so large, and everything seemed to blend together.

“I don’t know your preferences, so you may decide who gets which room.” Jarvis opened both the bedroom doors, showing them through one and then the other. They were… massive, spacious enough to fit an entire house inside, with sumptuous fixtures and furniture and en suite bathrooms with marble floors, counters, and enormous tubs.

“Mr. Stark has already arranged for clothes and other necessities and comforts to be delivered, they should be here tomorrow. In the meantime, I was able to procure a few changes of clothing for each of you, I do hope they fit.” He gestured to the neat stack of clothing on the bed in one of the rooms. “There are toiletries in the bathrooms, I tried to foresee any needs you may have, but if you have need of anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. And you may ring for me anytime.” He showed them the phone on the desk, and how to call down to the kitchens, where he or his wife often were. 

He stood back and looked at them both expectantly, his hands behind his back. “Are there any further questions or concerns I may see to?”

Natalia looked up at Yasha, and they had a moment of silent communication.

“We saw a child.” Yasha finally said quietly, looking back at the butler. “When we first arrived.”

Jarvis didn’t immediately reply, and though he didn’t seem to move, his posture stiffened and something in his face changed. It was as if he’d suddenly closed off a part of himself, and it became clear that he wouldn’t be offering up any information that wasn’t asked for, at least on this subject.

“Who is he?” Yasha finally pressed.

Jarvis spoke slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “Young master Anthony. Tony. He is Mr. Stark’s son, from his late wife, Maria.”

Yasha held back a reaction. His son? He had not even realized Stark had been married. He hadn’t said, not once. He had talked at length about his company, his business, his searches for Steve Rogers (those memories were… difficult to decipher). But not once had Stark mentioned his family. Yasha remembered something Stark had said, when the man had first seen Natalia. _What’s one more kid in the house, anyway._

Had the world changed so much? Were all fathers that dismissive of their children? It seemed wrong to Yasha, especially for a man of Stark’s standing. He had an empire in his business, surely he wanted an heir? But then, Stark had always been… different.

“He’s very small.” Natalia suddenly spoke up, and Jarvis almost looked surprised that she had addressed him. He smiled, just a little bit, as he looked down at her.

“Yes, little miss, he is. He is just four years old, though his studies are quite a bit more advanced than that. He’s quite a brilliant boy.”

“I’m five.” Natalia offered after a quick grimace at being called _little miss_ , surprising Yasha this time. She’d barely spoken a word in the past two days as they traveled, and certainly not to anyone other than himself. For her to speak to this butler in his native language, and to tell him even this small detail about herself, either meant she liked him, or she wasn’t willing to wait to get whatever information she wanted herself.

Jarvis suddenly smiled much more genuinely at her, and his eyes were very kind. “I can only hope that you and Tony find a friend in each other, then. He could certainly use a friend, the only child in a house this big. I’m afraid to say that he’s quite a lonely little boy.”

Suddenly straightening and looking slightly embarrassed, as if he’d revealed too much, Jarvis bowed slightly to the both of them. “Anything else?”

Yasha shook his head, deciding that was enough for now. “Thank you. No.”

And then they were alone, and Yasha didn’t even have to think about it before he was kneeling on the floor and pulling Natalia close. She cuddled into him immediately, and he wondered if she was feeling as overwhelmed and exhausted as he was. They’d been keeping their masks up, guarding themselves, unwilling to let anything show that they didn’t choose. This was the first time in what felt like an eternity that they could finally relax.

“I don’t like it here,” Natalia whispered, switching back to Russian now that they were finally alone, her words barely audible with her face pressed to Yasha’s chest.

“I don’t either,” He murmured back, letting his cheek rest on the top of her head. He scanned the room again, more thoroughly than the cursory look he’d given it before, and though it was nothing like anything he could remember, it still felt oppressive, despite its size.

“Do we have to stay?”

Trust the little Widow to get to the heart of her desires.

“I think… for now, we must. I don’t think we could easily leave and disappear.”

“We did before,” Natalia replied, something almost sulky in her voice. She was tired, Yasha knew, and her emotions that had been shuttered and muted for so long were starting to get too much to hide. She was so young, after all.

“I know. But this is different. We stand out here, we don’t know this place. And we’re… safe, I think. For now.”

Yasha sat back, bringing Natalia with him so she was curled up in his lap. They stared at the room together, inspecting every inch, and though he still didn’t like the feeling the space gave him, he couldn’t deny that the thought of sinking into the bed and sleeping was so very tempting.

As if she were reading his mind, Natalia yawned. “I’ll take first watch.”

Yasha’s mouth curved into a hint of a smile, and he surged to his feet with the little girl still in his arms. “We don’t need to. Not here. Stark values me. He won’t allow me to come to harm, or you either.”

Natalia scoffed at that, clearly indicating that she had noticed Stark’s dismissive behavior towards her and that she didn’t appreciate it at all.

“You are important to me, which means he will keep you safe.” Yasha sat on the bed, briefly startled at how deeply he sank into the bedding. It was like perching on a cloud, and Natalia’s head tipped to the side as she watched the silk comforter puff up around him.

They spent several long minutes puzzling over the bedding, and the absurd number of pillows. There were nine of them, in different sizes and shapes, and neither Yasha nor Natalia could fathom how one was supposed to sleep with all of them. Finally, Yasha threw all but two of them on the floor, and he burrowed into the heavy blankets with Natalia. It was nearly suffocating, being surrounded by so much softness, and he nearly gave up and slept on the floor instead. But he couldn’t, not after seeing the expression of wonder on Natalia’s face as she petted the soft silk sheets, and tested the edge of the plush pillow between her small fingers.

After a great deal of fidgeting and fussing, they had created something of a cocoon around themselves that didn’t feel so claustrophobic. Ignoring the entire rest of the bed, Natalia curled up against Yasha’s chest, using his bicep as a pillow, and now that she was finally comfortable, she fell asleep in moments.

Yasha wanted to stay awake longer, listening to the sounds the house made, so he could pick out noises that didn’t belong. He wanted to wait until everyone else was asleep, until his was the only heartbeat that indicated wakefulness.

But the pull of sleep was too much, and this was the first time he’d felt even the remotest sense of safety… ever. Between one minute and the next, he was asleep, and not even nightmares shook him from the deep, heavy sleep he sank into.

* * *

“Who are they, Jarvis?” That had to be the hundredth question Tony had asked him since he’d come into the boy’s bedroom five minutes ago, to tuck him in for the night.

The butler smiled as he helped the little boy into bed, tugging the blanket up to his chin and ruffling the unruly curls that were still in need of a trim. “Friends of your father’s. I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

“What are their names?”

“They call themselves Natalia and Yasha, though your father calls him Sergeant Barnes.”

Tony’s eyes widened a little, his attention sharpening. “Bucky Barnes? From the Cap stories that Aunt Peggy tells me?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. And I’m not sure it would be proper to ask.”

“Could I ask?”

“I don’t know when or if your father will allow you to see them, little sir. You know how he is with his projects.”

“But they’re _people_ , Jarvis. People aren’t projects.”

Jarvis rather thought Howard was unaware of that fact, actually. “We will just have to wait and see. Now you need to calm down and sleep. You have an extra lesson with your Algebra tutor tomorrow and will have to get up early.”

Tony sighed, looking a little unhappy. “I don’t like it when Father is home.”

His heart clenching a little, Jarvis gave Tony’s hand a gentle squeeze. He knew what the boy meant, and rather agreed with the sentiment. He didn’t like it when Howard was home either. The man was cruel and self-absorbed, more than willing to take out his own frustrations on anyone really, but particularly his only son. As the years went by, Jarvis recognized less and less of the man he had known so many years ago. Howard had always been selfish, and self-absorbed. But he hadn’t always been like this. Cold and harsh. Unfeeling.

“Perhaps if you get good marks, you’ll be able to have some extra time to play on Friday.”

Tony didn’t smile at the prospect. If anything, his frown deepened. “He never lets me play. He doesn’t even let me go in the workshop anymore.”

Knowing that there wasn’t one single thing he could do to make things easier for the little boy, Jarvis adjusted the covers and patted his shoulder gently. “Go to sleep, Tony. Sweet dreams.”

“Good night, Jarvis. I love you.”

“And I you, little sir.”


	11. Music Rests The Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks spent to themselves and gathering what information they can, Natalia has had enough of idle waiting and silly recon. “Yasha, it is time to meet Tony.”
> 
> For rebelmeg's LoMB square E2 - meet cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translation:   
> malá sestra - little sister

Yasha and Natalia had been living at Stark Manor for a few weeks now. Most of the time, Yasha had been trying to piece himself back together, scattered memories of his own and some that Stark mentioned, a puzzle with no edges and a very messy middle. Natalia, or Natasha as she had started to call herself, hadn’t left his side for longer than it took her to use the bathroom or bathe. Yasha didn’t mind. If he was being honest, having her around helped to ground him in the here and now. 

Of the two bedrooms arranged for them, one was mostly unused, as they decided to stay in the room they had slept in the first night. At first, they had been tempted to find another room entirely, a little further from the suite Stark slept in, until they had realized that he was in a wing by himself on the other side of the house. So they felt safe enough where they were.

Although they stayed mostly in that room, they heard and saw enough of the household to know that Stark was nearly never around and Tony, who lived in the nursery wing at the back of the house and was very rarely seen outside of it, was mostly raised by the family butler, Edwin Jarvis. 

Natasha was curious about the boy who was around her age. She hadn’t had contact with children her age who hadn’t already started the training of a Widow or Wolf Spider, not that she could remember. Yet she was too suspicious to leave the side of her guardian angel, her big brother Yasha.

Yasha was still too insecure to pursue any kind of contact with the other child. He was constantly, and perhaps irrationally, afraid that he might fall back into old ingrained habits and start the training of the Wolf Spiders with the young boy. So for the first few weeks of living in the Manor, they didn’t approach Tony at all. Instead, they did recon. They gathered information from everyone else they came across, as much as they could. Most of the other staff, like the maids and security, had not much to say about the little boy. From Jarvis they got tight-lipped smiles and short dismissive words. Most common was, “The young master is smart beyond his age, but he’s a little shy.”

Stark never answered any questions concerning his son.

Finally, Natasha was fed up with all the non-answers she had gotten and took it upon herself to change things.

“Yasha,” Natasha was dangling her feet from the windowsill in their bedroom, while she leaned her back against the glass. In her hands she held a book she had found in the library, _“Playing Beatie Bow”_. Her eyes were still trained on the pages, but Yasha would know she was waiting for his acknowledgment. And he did put down his own book, a disturbing one called _“Flowers in the Attic”_ and looked in her direction.

“ _Da_.”

“I think we should visit Tony.”

Yasha studied her intensely. “Why now, _malá sestra_?”

The little Widow looked at him, the slightest smile curving her lips. Weighing her words carefully, she replied honestly, “It’s too quiet in this house. I’ve read that children are supposed to be loud. Even back in Russia, it was never this quiet. I want to get to know Tony.”

“You mean you want to know if he can become a threat or a security risk for us.”

Inclining her head slightly in a way that not even her red curls moved, she answered, “That is another reason, yes.”

For a long moment, they held eye contact until Yasha smiled very slightly and laid his book aside. He stood from the bed, stretching himself before turning towards the door. 

“Come.”

Natasha was already heading towards him, sliding into place like his shadow. Together they went on their search for the little boy.

They found him soon. They had made a mission of learning the layout of the Manor, and the schedules of everyone in the house, from Stark all the way down to the maids. They knew when people arrived at the Manor and left, they knew what each member of the staff did and where, and they knew where Tony was during his many lessons with tutors and instructors.

Currently, the boy would be sitting in the piano room, playing idly on the Blüthner grand piano, his teacher having left for the day. His small legs didn’t even reach down to the pedals, and yet his slightly chubby fingers managed to coax some lovely tunes out of the instrument as he practiced. Tony was so absorbed in his play, that he didn’t notice his visitors as they crept silently into the room, and lingered by the door, listening.

Natasha stood transfixed by Tony’s playing. She had known of his many talents, through whispers here and there, but she hadn’t believed that a four-year-old could play such a big instrument so easily and with grace. The sun was starting to set outside, golden yellow sunlight flooding the room through the huge windows on the west wall. The song Tony played eerily fit the large, mostly empty house, speaking of loneliness and longing. 

The moment he finished, Natasha stepped forward and let her foot make a noise on the floor, warning him of their company. 

Tony whirled around, his eyes wide with surprise. His mouth opened in a silent O, his hands jerking helplessly to his side, like they wanted to move in front of him in defense. Hastily he slid off the piano bench and stood, ramrod straight, trying to smile nervously at the newcomers. 

“Um… uh, hi? I didn’t hear you comin’ in. You’re Sergeant Barnes and Natalia, right? Father found you both. I’ve seen you a few times, I wondered—” 

As sudden as he has started, Tony shut his mouth with an audible click, a flush rising on his round cheeks.

Both Yasha and Natasha picked up the signs of distress the small boy was literally waving in their faces. The shifting stance, the twitching hands, the trembling lips, the way-too-wide brown doe eyes. The hunched shoulders. The way Tony’s eyes darted between them and the door and back again, as if he was waiting for another person to come in at any moment, or perhaps hoping to escape.

Both the little Widow and the Winter Soldier knew that kind of behavior in a normal four-year-old child wasn’t right. Yasha nudged Natasha a bit, telling her silently that she was the better operative in this situation. She took another step forward, face blank but making her eyes softer than normal. She tried her best to look as non-threatening as possible.

“ _Da_. It’s Yasha and Natasha,” she replied in accented English. “And you are Tony?”

“Y-yes. Well… Anthony, but I like… Tony more,” he answered bashfully.

Natasha weighed her options. She could try to pry information from the timid boy, but somehow she didn’t believe that would work. This was a bit of a problem. She had not been trained yet to be _soft_ to someone, like the older girls in the Red Room. While she had been top of her class, she had only learned to fight and use her innocent face to get what she needed. This, trying to connect with a child that was so drastically different from her… she didn’t know what to do. A little lost, she turned halfway back to Yasha.

Yasha was out of his depth as well. He could rely merely on a faint echo in his memories of an unknown little girl being shy, and that didn’t help.

“You play?” He asked the boy, his hand twitching towards the piano.

“Yes, sir.”

“ _Nyet_ , none of that. I’m Yasha. Not sir. Okay?”

Tony’s eyes were still wide, but his body seemed to settle somewhat. A shy smile played around his lips when he nodded.

Natasha tried to copy a girl she had observed once as a training season. She put her little hands on Yasha's trousers and huddled closer to him, widening her eyes in false shyness and lowering her chin slightly, letting her hair fall a little in her face. When she felt sure that she had copied everything she could remember, she murmured softly, “Play something, please?” 

For a moment, Tony seemed unsure what to do. He let his eyes wander to the door a final time, then finally relaxed. His formerly tentative smile blossomed into a big full-faced and radiant grin that changed his whole demeanor. He bounced with excitement, then bobbing his head like an over-excited puppy, Tony turned around and clambered up on the piano bench again. 

Yasha and Natasha went further into the room and sat on a small sofa on the other side of the piano, in view of the little genius. Natasha leaned against Yasha, and they let themselves relax as much as they could.

Soon the room was filled by another song, and another and another. The compositions weren’t flawlessly played, and it was obvious for some of them that Tony’s hands were far too small to reach all the keys. Yet, the way they were played gradually gave Yasha and Natasha a sense of peace that neither had experienced in a long time. 

That was how Jarvis found the three shortly before dinner, when he knocked on the door and opened it wide, clearly not expecting Tony to have visitors. 

“Master Anthony—” he stopped himself when he caught sight of the two houseguests, looking startled as the two of them stood immediately, almost at attention. Then, to Natasha’s utter bewilderment, he smiled a little.

“Ah, Miss Barnes, Sergeant Barnes, I was about to collect you as well.”

Natasha barely contained a twitch, surprised at being addressed as _Miss Barnes_. Howard always called her _little miss_ , which she hated, but this… it was as if Jarvis were somehow acknowledging the link between herself and Yasha, approving of it, supporting it. It made her feel curiously warm inside…

“As I was saying,” Jarvis continued, “Tony, your father will be at home for dinner tonight. He phoned ahead. Please go wash up and change, ring me in the kitchen if you need help. Miss Natasha, Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Stark asked for you two to join family dinner if you like. It will be at seven in the small dining room.”

Natasha stepped closer to Yasha, who contemplated the request. Then he simply tilted his head in silent agreement.

It would be very interesting, Natasha thought as they all left the piano room, to see the interactions between Tony and his father. Very interesting indeed.


	12. Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The food keeps coming, and never in his life has Yasha been this uncomfortably full. The stilted conversation with Stark grates on his nerves, but that isn’t so bad. What had been an awkward, albeit tolerable, atmosphere then turns sour with a spilled glass of juice.

Dinner together in the family dining room was… uncomfortable. Despite the room being much smaller and less lavish (though still ornate and expensive), the austerity and aloofness of formal dining persisted.

Stark had yet to join them, but the other three were already there. Yasha was seated to the right at the head of the table, Natasha next to him. Tony, however, sat at the other end of the table on the opposite side, all but isolated from the others. There was even a flower arrangement in the way, so that Yasha had to lean over to even see the boy. Soft brown locks kept falling into his little face whenever he so much as twitched. Unlike in the piano room, the boy tried his hardest to sit very straight, his shoulders held stiffly and his hands in his lap. 

Finally Stark entered. The man let his gaze swap over his companions briefly before he sat himself at the head of the table, and Yasha suddenly realized, now that he saw Stark and Tony together, that Howard seemed far too old to have a child so young. His wife, whoever she was, must be far younger than he was.

With a showman's smile, Stark greeted his guests, “Good evening Sergeant, little miss.”

Being addressed like that, made Yasha flinch slightly. He didn’t like it. He didn’t feel like Sergeant Barnes, he didn’t know who that was. There were… pieces of him that felt a little bit like Bucky, and a lot of him was still the Asset. It was why he still preferred Yasha. At least that name had no expectations from a burdened past behind it.

Natasha inclined her head politely (though Yasha could sense her annoyance at how she’d been addressed too) and answered, “Good evening, Mr. Stark.”

Content with that, Stark turned towards the silent butler, “We can begin now, Jarvis. Bring me the Chivas Salute, it has been a busy day.”

“As you please, sir.”

Yasha glanced again over at Tony, expectantly. Stark would greet his son now, and Yasha could begin to understand their relationship.

But Stark said nothing, didn’t so much as look in Tony’s direction, merely arranged his napkin on his lap, and downed most of the glass of scotch Jarvis brought to him in one swallow.

Soon dinner was served, and Stark made conversation with Yasha. It was familiar, if uncomfortable, and Yasha sent a few sympathetic glances at Natasha when Stark wasn’t looking. She hated being ignored, though it was clear she wasn’t alone there. 

Throughout the entire meal so far, Tony hadn’t spoken. The boy sat as straight and still as he could, his little hands trying to cut his food neatly with the heavy silverware, but not once did he speak, and not once did Stark acknowledge his presence. 

The whole ordeal lasted for a little over an hour. Yasha had been surprised at the beginning, when Jarvis had brought out little plates of tiny bites of food, all separate and neat. He had called them hors d'oeuvres, and Yasha exchanged a glance with Natasha, seeing the very subtle shrug she made before cleaning her plate. 

Then there was soup, small bowls of it, and as Yasha was finishing his, he noticed that Stark and Tony had only had a few mouthfuls, if that. It seemed not just odd, but entirely wrong. Yasha had been starved before, gone days or even weeks without a full meal, or even any food at all. If food was placed in front of him, he ate it, all of it, and hoped that he would have more before his stomach began to ache with hunger. Even after the past three weeks of having three meals every day, and oftentimes snacks in between, Yasha still ate every crumb as if he were preparing to not see food again for a long while. It was a habit too deeply ingrained to break.

He supposed this was the true benefit to being wealthy. You never had to worry about going hungry.

There was fish next (he could hear Natasha struggling to get it down, she didn’t like fish), and then roast beef with potatoes and vegetables. Like with the other food, Stark and Tony didn’t eat much, and when Jarvis brought out plates of salad, Yasha started to understand why. He was already full, maybe even a little too full, but he couldn’t stop himself from eating everything on his plate.

And then there was dessert, and he almost felt like crying when he saw the thick slice of chocolate cake and three round scoops of raspberry ice cream that Jarvis put in front of him. Natasha made the softest sound, inaudible to anyone but Yasha, and he knew she had to be devastated. She had eaten as much as he had, and might very likely throw it all back up if she tried to eat the dessert. Which was just cruel, as Natasha had a sweet tooth, and loved chocolate in particular. It was such a rare treat. Under the table, Yasha found her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Don’t like it?” Stark asked as he poked at his own slice of cake, looking at Yasha.

“No room.” He replied simply, hoping that wasn’t rude. Stark chuckled a bit as Jarvis came to clear their untouched plates, and again Yasha heard the smallest sound of distress from Natasha. He squeezed her hand again.

They were nearly finished, and Stark was still trying to make small talk with Yasha, who was feeling less and less responsive, when Tony went to set down his glass and knocked it over, spilling his juice on the white table cloth.

There was a brief silence, during which Yasha’s eyes flicked from the spreading red stain to Tony’s face. He barely had time to wonder why the little boy looked so terrified before Stark spoke.

“Boy.”

One word from him, spoken harshly, cuttingly, was enough to make Tony stiffen and freeze. 

“Y-yes, Father?” He spoke in a timid voice.

“What have I told you about etiquette?”

Tony’s voice was small and fearful. “Children are to be seen and not heard, and they are not to... to make… messes.”

“And what, would you say, did you just produce?” Stark’s voice was mocking now, and it made something like anger boil up in Yasha’s chest. The boy was only four years old. Even in the Red Room, children so young hadn’t been expected not to make messes, it was part of learning, part of life.

At first, Tony stayed silent. He was clearly far too afraid to answer his father, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Answer me, Anthony!” Stark’s voice became sharper, his eyes flashing with unjustified anger, as if he were daring the young child to further misbehave.

Tony ducked his head, and only managed a whisper. “A mess.”

Without warning, Stark seemed to calm down again. Swirling his whiskey in the crystal tumbler, he observed his son, the boy huddled down slightly in his chair. He appeared to be considering a fitting punishment, all the while keeping his guests in mind. “After dinner, you’ll stay up and help Jarvis clean up your mess, and no dessert or treats tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. On that note, have you finished your studies?”

A quick, fearful glance then Tony’s face was hidden again. “M… mostly, Father. Just a bit more aft—”

“You’re supposed to be done by dinner, Anthony.” Stark’s voice was sharp again, and he made a dismissive sound of disgust. “You’re such a disappointment.” 

He set down his glass and motioned for the butler. “Jarvis. I’m finished. See to it that our guests are satisfied, and oversee my son’s punishment.”

“I will do what I can, sir.” Jarvis said quietly, and he stood back as Stark got up from his seat, inclined his head towards Natasha and Yasha, and left the room.

Natasha was shaking beside Yasha, he could feel it, and a quick glance at her face showed him that she was _angry_.

“My apologies, Sergeant, Miss.” Jarvis said now that Stark was gone, some of the formality leaving his voice. “You may take your time finishing up. Tony? Are you done?”

The little boy, who had been staring at his lap since his father started berating him, looked up, and his eyes were full of tears. “Yes,” He whispered, and he carefully put the napkin on his lap back on the table, his little hand shaking. Yasha felt himself start to rise from his seat, but he stopped himself, confused. What was he doing?

Jarvis had gone to Tony, and was holding out his hand, not even looking at the red juice stain on the white tablecloth. “Come along, little sir. It’s alright. I’ll clear the table and then Ana and I will show you how to get that stain out. It won’t take long. Ana knows how to fix anything.”

Tony took the butler’s hand and followed him out of the dining room, leaving the other two behind in silence. Natasha turned all the way around in her chair to watch him leave, her green eyes very focused. Once they were alone, she looked up at Yasha.

“I hate him.”

Yasha blinked in surprise. “Tony?”

“No,” She spat, glaring as if she was asking if he was stupid. “Stark. He is mean and cruel and I hate him.”

Yasha didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Natasha knew he did too.

With nothing else to do but finish the water in their fancy crystal goblets, the two of them stood, but then Jarvis was suddenly back again.

“Forgive me,” he said, holding out what looked like two bowls, with paper napkins draped over the tops. “I thought that perhaps you would like these for later, so I saved them.” He crouched down on creaking knees, eye-level with Natasha, and held a plate out. 

She hesitantly lifted a corner of one of the napkins, and then a tiny, slow smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “ _Spasibo._ ”

Jarvis smiled back, handing her one bowl, and standing to hand Yasha the other. “Shall I show you back to your rooms?”

“No, thank you.” Yasha answered, and now he could smell it under the napkin, and feel the cold on his hand. Jarvis had saved their desserts for them, and a little clinking noise told him that the ice cream was being kept cold on a little dish of ice.

No wonder Natka had smiled at him.

“Very well. If I don’t see you again, good night, and sleep well.” He turned to leave, then paused, looked between the two of them, and said, “And don’t worry about Master Tony. He’ll be alright. He’s with my Ana now, and she loves him as I do.”

Jarvis left the room, and Yasha and Natasha watched after him for a few moments.

“Him, though. Him, I like.” Natasha declared in a very firm voice, and Yasha couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath as she led the way out of the room, the bowl of cake and ice cream clutched carefully in her little hands.


	13. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Figuring out what is making those sounds at night makes Yasha uneasy. Realizing that her concern for someone other than her Yasha is apparently a common occurrence unsettles something deep inside Natasha. Suddenly the Manor seems even more foreign, more a threat than before. Luckily, Jarvis knows a thing or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translation:  
> mladshaya sestra - younger sister
> 
> [The lullaby the Yasha sings to Natka!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFRHJuD0elI) There is an English translation in the video description.

Later that night found Natasha once again sitting on the windowsill, tapping her index finger absentmindedly against the glass, the taste of chocolate and cream and raspberries still in her mouth.

“What is preoccupying your mind, Natasha?” Yasha stood next to her, looking out, had been standing there with her there for the past several minutes. 

“I wonder… Yasha? Is it supposed to be like that?”

He paused, and she suspected he was unsure how to answer.

“I mean… Is a family supposed to be like Stark was to Tony?”

“I… what I remember… _nyet_. Family is… supposed to be safe. Tony didn’t look like he felt safe.”

Natasha nodded. “I think so, too.”

Yasha’s voice was warmer, and she felt his elbow brush her slightly. “You like him.”

“... he’s small.”

“So are you, Natalia.”

“ _Nyet_ , not Natalia! Natasha!” She snapped, and glared when Yasha tried not to smile. “He is different. He’s really small. He plays music.”

“He does.”

“I think I like his music.”

“So do I.” Yasha agreed, then he held out his hand. “Come. Let us try some sleep.”

Humming agreeably, Natasha pushed herself from the sill. Her small hand wrapped around her brother’s metal one and she led them both to bed. They were both aware that neither of them would sleep much this night, too much on their minds to find rest.

“Yasha?” She asked, once they were curled up in the bed, her back to Yasha’s chest, her head pillowed on his arm.

“Mm?”

“I am glad Tony has Jarvis. Jarvis is kind to him.”

“I’m glad too, _mladshaya sestra_. Me too.”

* * *

Just before dawn the next day, Yasha gave up all hope of sleep. He had laid awake the whole night, mind too full and too empty at the same time. Part of it was because around midnight, he had picked up the faint tap-tap sounds of small feet wandering the corridors. 

In the beginning of their time here, he had often heard those faint noises, thought them to be his imagination, his paranoia. Yesterday had been the first time he heard the noise louder, closer. It didn't take him long to conclude that those sounds came from Tony. 

That led Yasha’s mind to questions. He wondered why a boy so young was out of bed at such hours, and so often. Children that age were supposed to sleep a lot, Yasha knew, and he was careful every morning to be still as long as he could, so Natasha would sleep longer. Then he asked himself how he knew that. Sometimes he had moments in which he was so sure of something, believing it with the same conviction he had thought only belonged to the Asset. Other times, his mind drew a blank. No concepts, no ideas, no ideals saved. It was confusing at best, disturbing at worst.

The book he was reading wasn't helpful in this situation either. It put all kinds of terrible thoughts and even memories in his head. Yasha was convinced that the author must have been part of the early Red Room as well, perhaps telling her own story. He could see his _mladshaya sestra_ doing exactly that. And since the realization that the sounds he heard at night were made by Tony, his mind unhelpfully swapped the boy in the book with him, giving the whole situation a darker impression than it really was. 

Once Natasha woke up a little later, she was uncharacteristically jumpy. She stole glances at her reflection wherever she could. Her nervous tell, one he had been responsible for beating out of her once, flickered through. Every few minutes she would barely tap her toes against the floor. He suspected that it was only audible to him thanks to whatever Hydra had done to him to make him the way he was.

Natasha was nervous, anxious even. Why, he couldn’t say for sure. Yet, somehow he felt uncomfortable as well. Which of course, Natasha noticed. She finally tugged at his hand, making him bend down so she could whisper in his ear. “I dreamed of Tony being punished like I was.”

Yasha had to swallow hard after that sentence. He hated when either of them had those nightmares, which were more memory than their minds coming up with fantastical nonsense. Only a few things could help ease their souls at those times, and one was a lullaby that Natasha had taught him after escaping the Red Room. Yasha hadn’t known of it before, but he had taken to the soft music and gentle meaning of the words. He had changed a line or two, well, actually only a word in a few lines. Whenever the lyrics would say _boy_ , he used _girl_ instead, and he swapped _son_ for _child_. Natasha could always, without fail, at least doze again at night after he sang her that lullaby in his gruff voice that wasn’t made for music.

Tony wasn’t at breakfast, or lunch, which wasn’t unusual, but it still felt wrong. After the night before, that display of Stark’s volatile anger and his behavior towards the little boy, Yasha felt a strong urge to see Tony, to know for himself that he was alright. When afternoon finally came around, and the time for Tony’s piano lesson, they crept out of their room and made their way to the piano room. 

When they arrived, however, the silence was heavy. No soft misplaced tune, no quiet breathing or instruction from the piano teacher was to be heard from the other side of the door. Yasha hesitantly pushed the door open. The piano room was empty. He felt his muscles lock up. Something heavy sat in his stomach, making him feel nauseous. 

“Why is he not here, big brother?” asked Natasha, for a moment forgetting her training, fear more than evident in her voice and her movements. That alone made both of them aware that somehow the other child had already wormed his way through Natasha's carefully constructed armor. She looked up at Yasha, worry on her face. “I…”

“ _Nyet_ … It’s… I… worry, too? Humans… you said humans care. It is okay to care?” Yasha’s voice was soft, uncertain. He still had such a long way back to being a human. At least he was aware of the way he changed. Every day a tiny bit more human, a tiny bit less Asset. “We can ask Jarvis. He’ll know.”

“ _Da_. I can ask, if you want, Yasha.”

“ _Spasibo_.”

They closed the door behind themselves, and set off hand-in-hand to the kitchen. The little Widow and the Soldier were on a mission to find a certain butler.

* * *

“Good grief!” Jarvis had been puttering around the kitchen making preparations for dinner when suddenly two people stood in front of him. “Miss Barnes, Sergeant Barnes, how can I help you?”

The little girl stepped forward, eyes round and innocent, as she asked shyly, “Mr. Jarvis, we wondered... Why is Tony not in the music room?”

The butler wasn’t sure if this was an act of hers, or if she truly was a little shy. Having been a spy himself (not that these two were aware of that), one never knew. If Jarvis was honest, he was glad those two strangers cared for his little Tony, even though it angered him as well. How could strangers see so well what Howard was seemingly blind to? When Natasha said his name once again, he realized that he hadn’t answered yet.

“Ah, forgive me, Miss Natasha. Young master Tony is to stay in his room until all his school assignments have been finished and lessons learned.”

“When will that be?”

“Most likely when Mr. Stark is agreeable with what Tony has finished. Based on past experience, it should be tonight.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.”

Edwin wasn’t sure if he was wistfully imagining the disappointment, the slight worry, or if both guests did care as much as it seemed.

“Would you two care for a small snack?” He asked, partially as a friendly gesture and partly because it was proper. “Some tea and finger food?”

Barnes and Natasha exchanged looks and nodded their agreement. They never turned down an offer of food, and in fact, last night’s dessert was the first time Jarvis had ever seen them not finish whatever had been offered. He had a few theories about that, in addition to what Howard had told him, and it certainly painted a very sad, bleak picture of what these two suspicious people had endured before setting foot in the mansion.

Shortly after they were done, Jarvis was left alone again, quite deep in thought. He swore to himself to keep an even closer eye on everyone in this household, and, if he could, to arrange a few more serendipitous meetings between Tony and their two mysterious guests.


	14. Theirs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yasha and Natasha attend another family dinner, and Yasha is a source of concern. The expression of care lands someone in trouble, and if not for Jarvis, there might be violence. Nat and Yasha learn something new about the butler, and have reason to wonder what exactly the story is behind Tony's mother.

_March 1980_

It took three days for them to meet again. Yasha and Natasha had been invited to another family dinner, and neither of them looked forward to suffering through another meal with Stark’s erratic behavior. Yet they felt an overpowering urge to see for themselves that Tony was alright. Unknowingly, little Natasha was uncharacteristically showing her emotions, her Red Room training failing her. She had been as easy to read as a book ever since Jarvis had related Stark’s dinner invitation, her thoughts apparent by the emotions that played across her face.

For Yasha, that was proof enough that Tony had become important, maybe already part of Natasha’s family. They were in the dining room in the middle of eating dinner when that particular thought halted his hand, fork halfway to the mouth. Nobody but Natasha paid him any mind, though. He was expected to have terrible table manners. 

_If Natalia sees Tony as family, is he mine too?_ Yasha lost himself to that thought, the implications of what it might mean, and stopped eating altogether. That was, until Tony spoke up, his mouth full of food.

“Yasha, food is impoetant! Pweash eat.”

A clattering sound disturbed the relative quiet. “Anthony…”

The name was spoken softly. No hint of anger, disappointment, or annoyance. Which made it all the worse for the boy. Yasha saw the way Tony clammed up immediately, closing in on himself just like he had last time, his eyes dropping to his lap. The way he sat, the way his gaze had fixed briefly on his father, the slight nervous twitching of his hands, they were all reminiscent of the last interaction they had seen between Stark and his son. With sharp focus, Yasha watched this moment unfold.

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Go to your room. I’ll deal with you later.”

“Yes, Father.” The little boy left the room hastily, and the worried frown on the butler’s face didn’t go unnoticed by Yasha.

“I must apologize for my son, Sergeant. He knows better than to speak without being spoken to, and with his mouth full nonetheless. It was an appalling display of bad manners.” Stark smiled somewhat ruefully at Yasha.

“It’s fine.” Yasha replied quietly, certainly not understanding what he deemed as an overreaction on Stark's part. “He's a child. He did fine.” 

“You’re far too forgiving, Barnes!” Stark shook his head slightly and added, “I know you’re not remembering much, but when we were his age, our parents wouldn’t have been as forgiving either. I’m just doing right by my spawn.” 

A loud crack stopped him, stopped everyone. They all looked at the table, which had cracked under the force of the metal fist that had slammed into it. Yasha couldn’t seem to stop himself, didn’t feel in control as he barked, _“Stop that! Nothing wrong with him! You’re not forgiving at all! He’s not your spawn, he is your son!”_

His voice was harsher than it had been the last few weeks. It made him sick inside to realize that he was walking the edge between being himself, and the Asset.

If the so-called genius was wise, he’d back off now, and not say another word. Yasha glared at Stark, waiting for him to speak, to bluster and bellow and make more excuses for the abuse that he seemed to distribute upon his own flesh and blood with no remorse.

Surprisingly, it was Jarvis who spoke next. “Sir, I was to remind you of Director Carter’s request after dinner.”

Shaken from his stunned state, Stark sprang from his seat. “You’re right! I’m not to be disturbed. See to it that Tony’s behavior is corrected, Jarvis. Sergeant, Miss, if, you’ll excuse me. Good night everyone.” 

His quick steps echoed through the open doors until Jarvis closed them, then he turned to the other two with a strange expression on his face. And then he spoke to them, in fluent Russian.

“I must thank you, Sergeant. Sadly, I also have to advise against further action like this. Sir is… rather vindictive when he feels slighted.”

Yasha worked to contain his surprise that the man spoke Russian, and Natasha merely blinked a couple of times before she had mastered her composure again. To test the waters, she asked in the same language, “So you’ve understood all of what we said to each other?”

With a small self-satisfied smile, Jarvis answered back in English, “Yes, but don’t worry. I won’t tell. My only concerns are for Tony and the Stark Household. As long as you’re not plotting against either, I won’t be forced to take action.”

Yasha raised his eyebrows, curious at that choice of words. He didn’t press, though, merely replying, “We understand. We’d do the same.”

“In that case, I wish you a peaceful night. I will see to clearing the table later, but right now I have more pressing concerns. Please feel free to take your time, there is dessert just right here in the butler’s pantry.” Then Jarvis was gone before either of them could say anything.

They stayed silent for a short while, thinking over this new information. Then, “Let us go to bed, Yasha. With dessert.”

* * *

They both tried to sleep that night, but once again they couldn’t. Natasha tossed and turned, never finding a position in which her mind quieted enough for her to find slumber. Finally she gave up on it entirely. “Yasha?”

A soft yet tired grunt told her that he was awake as well.

“I want to search for his room.”

A few minutes went by until she felt her brother’s sigh, heard the rustling of the sheets and the bed dipping under his shifting weight. “Come then, Natasha. We will find him.”

It didn’t take long until they were in front of a bedroom door in the rear of the mansion, in the nursery wing. They had yet to explore this part of the house, but it was easy to locate Tony's room. Yasha motioned that he could hear Tony in the room, and they both saw the signs on wear on the carpet, indicating frequent use.

Natasha tapped on the door very softly, opening it only a crack, just enough to peek in. The hallway was dark, so there was no risk of light falling in and waking Tony. She didn’t want to risk waking him due a draft, though. She wasn’t sure what she had been hoping to see, but she was both disappointed and relieved to find him asleep. 

Soft moonlight came through a window right next to the bed— _security risk_ , she thought instantly—which illuminated the boy’s features. Natasha’s eyes softened a fraction, taking in Tony’s appearance, no scratches or bruises visible. 

It hit her like a freight train, all of a sudden. She had been expecting, even dreading, seeing him covered in wounds like so many other children back in Russia, like the other children in the Red Room when they took a beating for their behavior. Natasha didn’t realize she was shaking until Yasha’s flesh-and-blood hand landed tenderly on her hair, stilling her, grounding her.

He stood behind Natasha, in silent watchfulness, keeping guard over her, forgiving her for things which she would have suffered for dearly back home, this unseemly display of uncontrollable emotion. 

Well, not so much her home anymore. The Red Room had stopped being her home the moment she and Yasha escaped it.

* * *

The two stood silently in Tony's room for quite awhile, just watching the boy sleep. It was strangely soothing, watching his small chest and stomach rise and fall under the blankets, his little hand curled loosely by his face, as if perhaps he sucked on his thumb to go to sleep. 

Finally, Natasha turned to Yasha, though his hand was still on her head and it made her hair obscure her face. “We should go, brother.”

“Agreed, little Natasha.”

Yasha took a step away, finally letting his hand fall from her head, and Natasha had just pulled the door silently closed behind them when they heard a soft whimpering. He stopped abruptly, turning back towards Tony’s room. He strained his ears, listening for it again, and Natasha followed his lead, pressing close to the door and listening hard. The next quiet whine came shortly after, just a little louder this time. Both of the ex-assassins crept back into the room, opening the door just enough to slide through. The whimpering had turned into soft sobs, the sobs into cries and pleas.

The words ranged from _“please don’t”_ to _“I’m sorry,”_ and _“I won’t”_ and back again, over and over until all words left the boy. Only his heartbreaking sobs remained, lips silently forming one desperate word that they could just make out in the moonlight: mama.

It was obvious that Tony was suffering a nightmare. Something in Yasha’s chest ached badly at that realization. This small boy, who was so excited about music, this boy who had the most curious eyes Yasha had ever seen, who had felt concerned enough about the Soldat to risk punishment just to encourage him to eat, this same boy was plagued by nightmares, pleading for his mother. It felt wrong. 

It was the same feeling he got whenever Natalia had nightmares. The urge to protect, and the ache of knowing that hurt was inflicted on those he considered _his_. 

The Asset never had anything. The weapons he wielded were not his. The missions hadn’t been his to decide. Food, clothing, decisions, nothing had ever been his. Until Natalia gave him a name. Yasha had that. A name. And he had Natalia. 

Tony had given him music, just because he asked. Tony’s eyes looked at him with innocent interest. Tony had given him the gift of care. So Tony became his, too. 

They didn’t wake Tony from his restless, distressed sleep. How could he react any way but badly, to awaken to see their shadows looming over him in the dark? But they stood vigil over him, Natasha pressed against Yasha’s leg, clutching his hand so hard it hurt. Only after the boy settled again into more restful sleep did they leave and return to their own room. 

Both of them were too keyed up to attempt to sleep, so they sat on the floor together under the window and put together a plan. 

They needed information. Natasha couldn’t understand how a child who had lived with his parents, and had two other adults taking care of him, all of those things that Natasha herself had dreamed of during the worst nights in the Red Room… How could Tony have nightmares so terrible as the one they had witnessed? What had happened to him, that left him whimpering for his mother in that way?

What concerned Yasha and Natasha most were those silent pleas for his mother. A woman who neither of them had seen or heard anything of since they had arrived at the mansion. Something was up. Something had happened, had changed what presumably had been a happy family, a happy child, into this.

It was time to investigate.


	15. Cookies, Dancing, and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow Yasha and Natasha find themselves guarding the youngest occupant of the Manor every night. Sometimes Natasha falls asleep doing so, lying in her brother’s protective arms. Sometimes they have an ally with them. So far, their investigation hasn't yielded results. Whatever they try, nothing works quite right. So, in the end, they decide to ask the one person they had yet to ask, their kitten.

Time passed faster than they would have liked. 

Natasha made a point of avoiding Stark. She didn’t like him, didn’t trust him, hated the way he looked at her with condescension and a false smile, the way he called her _little miss_ in that patronizing voice.

While she did that, she also talked to various members of the household staff. She knew from her Red Room training that adults were more likely to give up information if she was alone, so she asked Yasha to stay in the shadows. She would never want for her guardian to leave her side otherwise, and it was always a relief to find him again, lurking just out of sight when she was done with one of her information-gathering missions. 

Yet, while the staff was willing to talk more openly to her, she never got far beyond the mention of Tony’s mother. It had been a week, and the only thing she had to show for her efforts was a name, Maria. It frustrated her immensely.

Yasha wasn’t doing any better. He had taken to sitting outside Tony’s door, listening for a couple of hours each night with a sleepy Natasha in his arms, until he was sure that no nightmares would disturb Tony’s sleep. More than once, they encountered Jarvis on his nightly rounds.

Jarvis was… an altogether bewildering and concerning factor. The old man was clearly loyal to his employer, though he seemed more loyal to Tony, which Yasha and Natasha both approved of. It made getting information difficult, however. Jarvis was as tight-lipped as always, though something had changed between them. 

Yasha had expected to be mistrusted even more than before, the first time Jarvis found them sitting outside Tony’s door in the dark in the middle of the night. Yasha had instantly tensed, prepared to defend himself. But the butler, upon seeing him there with Natasha in his arms, merely smiled tiredly, and stood vigil with them for an hour. Yasha was confused and insecure about what it meant, but he hoped that it was a good thing.

Whenever Tony had piano lessons, the days were slightly better. Yasha and Natasha made a habit of sitting with him for awhile after his instructor left, listening to his playing getting better every day. The music soothed something inside Yasha, and he knew Natasha felt similar. 

As they got closer to Tony, it had been a bit of a shock to find out about the sheer craziness of the four-year-old’s schedule. 

Natasha had been taught to work herself into the ground in the Red Room. Training, lessons in languages, techniques, and behavior. Day in, day out, training was all she could remember, until Yasha broke them out. She had read since then that normal kids weren’t supposed to work like that, they were allowed to play, to have free time to do the things they liked, to have fun. But Tony didn’t. And even though Tony was noticeably happier and more relaxed on the days Stark wasn't at home (he was away on business a lot), his grueling schedule never changed.

Morning lessons began at eight, in etiquette and English. He was taught math and simple physics after. Then a short break for lunch, after which a music tutor would come and coach Tony as he played the piano or studied musical history. The afternoon was full of more subjects, sketching and different kinds of math and science, and it didn't finish until six o'clock. Then Tony had an hour for leftover work and studying, dinner was at seven, and if Tony had finished all his work, bedtime was at eight. It was a full day, every day, and Natasha and Yasha came to hate the constant shadows under those bright hazelnut eyes.

Somehow though, Tony always managed to knock at their door once a day. Asking them how they were doing, bringing cookies with him, some with a bite taken out already. He would always deny it was him, but the crumbs around his lips betrayed him, and the way his eyes sparkled with mischief and laughter.

They fell into such an easy routine, it was unthinkable that things had ever been a different way. Tony would sit with them for a short while, babbling about whatever his mind was caught up in. Sometimes it was his lessons, unwittingly teaching both Yasha and Natasha some of what he learned, and sometimes it was about things his imagination came up with. Machines Yasha thought to be fantasy, but Tony swore he would make one day. 

They were good together, the little misfit family, and content. Except for when the times when Tony was startled, he would stop mid-sentence, his eyes widening out of fear. He would always look around, his skittish movements like that of a caged animal, and it was obvious that the behavior stemmed from the way his father treated him.

Yasha learned early on that surprising the child was a grievous mistake. One time, and one time only because Yasha would never repeat that mistake, he had called Tony “Anthony." His voice had been calm, but slightly gruffer than he meant, and Tony’s eyes had immediately darted to the door, his body gone rigid. The next thing they knew, was Tony beating a hasty retreat, not coming to see them for two days and not letting them in the piano room either.

It was only after the third day that Jarvis came to them, telling them that Tony was asking if they were angry with him still. Neither knew how to handle that.

Thankfully their strange alliance with Jarvis paid off in that moment, as he reassured them that he had already settled the boy’s mind. So after that, everything went back to normal, and Tony opened up to them even more. He even started to run up against the boundaries that Hydra and the Red Room had instilled so deeply in Yasha and Natasha, unknowingly challenging their training, pulling the two further away from the control and protocols that still had a hold on them.

He was chattering to them as they walked with him from dinner one evening, the atmosphere light and pleasant because Stark was gone on business. “Auntie Peggy thinks it’s important for me to be flex...fleshi… flexsh… very stretchy. So she got me into dancing. I like it a lot! Even when Father says that boys don’t do that. It’s called… ball… balle… ballet? Yeah, that’s the name. Ballet. I enjoy it very much.” Seemingly without thinking, Tony had reached for Natasha’s hand, who had stiffened. 

Barely before they could come into contact though, the boy stopped, horror written on his face. He then flushed adorably, yelling an apologetic, “I’M SO SORRY! I… sorry I didn’t… ummm… I don’t want to… um, I just thought… I mean, uh, if you’d like?”

Natasha had watched him carefully, a smile flickering on her lips as he babbled and stuttered nervously, but then gave a curt nod. Soon Tony was back to rambling, taking her hand, leading her into the middle of the ballroom he used for dance practice. He showed her some of what he was learning, doing a half-turn showing her how to pike. That evening, Natasha smiled genuinely for the first time in her life. Not a small smile or a little tilt of her lips, but a big one, a wide smile with teeth and crinkled eyes that just exuded happiness. 

With a fond smile of his own, Yasha watched the kids stretching, Tony laughing at Nat and calling her ice princess for her hard concentration and blank face. Nat retaliated after the first few well-meant jabs, calling Tony a fluffy kitten.

Tony had been showing Natasha how to spin when she'd called him that, and had lost his balance, landing firmly on his behind. A moment passed, during which Tony’s eyes were wide with shock, then he covered his mouth with both hands, and giggled. His laughter was infectious, and was the first time Yasha remembered not feeling some kind of lingering, constant dread at the center of himself. A weight lifting off his chest. With bafflement, he realized why. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe, at peace, home. By the look on Natasha’s face, she felt the same. They all decided to include a short ballet season into their daily routine, right before the cookies.

* * *

It was clearer than ever before, Tony was theirs. Yasha and Natasha doubled down on their efforts, trying to find out more about Tony’s strangely hidden past. And still, they found nothing about Tony’s mother, not even in some old newspapers they had bribed a maid to bring them, under the pretense of wanting to know what had been happening in the world, for Natasha’s education.

Yasha found himself finishing _“The Flowers in the Attic”_ and a suspicion settled heavy in his heart. _What if Tony was… treated like the characters in the book? What if he was more a showpony for the outside… and an outlet for his father's aggression on the inside. What… what if Tony was a prisoner in his own home, because of his father?_ Yasha didn't share those thoughts with Natasha, though. Not yet.

After nearly two months of going about it discreetly, Yasha and Natasha decided to ask the only two people they hadn’t yet. Natasha was going to ask Tony, while Yasha tried Stark. They were aware that they needed to split up for this to have a chance of success, so reluctantly they parted. 

Yasha was jittery as he walked alone through the hallways of the huge mansion. It had been a long time since he was left to himself like this. Natasha was always lurking just around the corner when they had split up before, out of sight but never out of earshot. Close enough that he could hear her heartbeat if he tried. But not now.

The last time he’d been this alone was way before he really became Yasha. Before they defected. A familiar cold settled in him, despite how he tried to fight it off.

Memories of times he hadn’t recalled yet invaded his mind, making every step harder to take. He had to stop several times, his breath coming short. His flesh-hand tingled. His lips felt dry. He was hearing the heartbeats of every living being close by, but recognizing none of them. His mind focused on taking one step at a time, forcing himself on. His peripheral vision went fuzzy and black and his focus shifted straight ahead. His left shoulder emitted more pain than he was used to. He was unaware that he was shaking. His mind was somehow not his and yet— 

Someone touched his shoulder. He whirled, slinging his arm around the offender, about to break a neck when—

“Sergeant!”

He knew that voice. It was a foe— it was… It was Howard Stark. The man who took him in. The man who helped them, him and his Natasha. The man he was looking for. Yasha snapped out of his confusing and terrifying state and released the struggling man. “Mne zhal'.”

“English, Barnes.” Stark snapped, backing up and rubbing gingerly at his throat.

“Ah…" Yasha shook his head, trying to clear it. "I am sorry, Howard.”

“It’s fine.” Stark didn’t look fine. He added under his breath, “I guess that’s what one gets for sneaking up on a shell-shocked soldier.”

The millionaire breathed steadily a few times and Yasha found it reassuring. At least until the other man started asking questions. “Where’s your kid? Run off?" When Yasha didn't immediately reply, he snorted a little. "I was wondering when that would happen. In the end, all the brats are the same, aren’t they? Were you looking for her?”

Yasha had to stop himself from answering in Russian, his mind still scrambled, but he managed. Barely, but he did. “No. She wanted to read some new books. I was looking for you.”

“Huh?”

“Yes. I wanted to ask you something.”

When he didn’t immediately say more, Stark looked like he had to swallow his irritation.

Stark’s patience was always stretched thin, it seemed. Always, with his son, his work, Peggy Carter-Sousa, the woman he worked with, and his search for Steve (Yasha had so many memories of Steve). Most days, it seemed Stark only got through it thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol he drank, and the desperate, almost insane hope that he might finally find Steve. He talked about it all the time, and apparently Yasha, _Bucky_ , was a reminder that it could still happen. That maybe Steve was still out there, still alive, frozen but alive. And if he was… well, Yasha figured that had to be the reason Stark tried so hard to stay on his good side. 

Yasha watched as Stark gathered his calm, and asked, “What is it Barnes, I don’t have all day. Carter’s been nagging me, I’ve got projects that need to be finished, and Obie has some new business ideas he wants to discuss.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry. Well. Back in our time,” Yasha pulled himself together, and using his Hydra training, created a persona for himself. He began with the reference, trying to show he sympathized with Stark, make him believe they were of the same mindset, a team against the new world. Their interactions so far showed that Stark, despite being a futurist, lived far more in the past than the present. 

So Yasha played to that as he continued. “Back in the forties, a man did right with their woman. I mean. I think I remember someone from the—from the Howlies saying he was gonna marry ‘his missus’, ‘cuz that missus was pregnant. So I wondered… Where is your wife? Will ya introduce her to me?” Somehow, from somewhere, a foreign lilt replaced his usual Russian accent. Some distant part of his mind told him that it was from Brooklyn, where he grew up. 

At first, Stark had relaxed, the words and the accent somehow comforting to him. But the moment Yasha mentioned his wife, he suddenly went tight as a bowstring and squinted suspiciously at Yasha. His only reply, before he turned on his heel and left, was, “She’s not around anymore.”

With that, Yasha was left alone. A deep sigh escaped his lips. As he rubbed a hand through his hair he whispered, “Well, I hope you play it better, Natasha.”

* * *

She didn’t. Natasha wasn’t sure where it went wrong, but somehow she had done something to frighten Tony, enough that he ran away from her.

They had been sitting together in the piano room, Tony idly playing while she sat next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Physical contact was still something she struggled with, even with Yasha at times, but Tony loved it. He was very tactile, and seemed to crave physical affection, so in quiet moments Natasha tried to cater to that. After listening to him play for awhile, she had asked him, “Tony, why piano?”

“Mama played, and I like it.” Tony had smiled, though his eyes were filled with sadness as he answered.

Natasha’s heart had leapt, sensing success, and pushed forward. “Your mother? Where is she?”

Tony stopped his playing. His hands rested on the keyboard, eyes distant, vacant even. After a moment's hesitation, Natasha laid her hand on his knee, and she whispered softly, “Kitten?”

The affectionate nickname almost did the trick, nearly bringing him back to her, but then he jerked under her touch. His head snapped up, eyes full of fear and a betrayal that Natasha didn’t understand. He scooted away from her, looking confused and hurt, but when she tried to reach for him again, he sprang off the piano bench and ran out of the room. 

Natasha watched him go, bewildered and somewhat ashamed, not understanding where she went wrong


	16. A Secret Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The biggest mystery is finally solved. That doesn’t necessarily mean Yasha and Natasha like what they find. 
> 
> This crosses off the "Maria Stark" TSB square for both of us!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Name You Gave Me - Chapter 16: A Secret Revealed  
> Collaborators: fightingforcreativity and rebelmeg  
> Card Numbers: J - 3113, rebelmeg - 3055  
> Squares Filled:  
> J, T3 - Maria Stark  
> rebelmeg, A2 - Maria Stark  
> Ship: Bucky & Natasha & Tony  
> Rating: Mature  
> Major Tags: child abuse, nightmares, implied spousal abuse, reference drug abuse, minor character death  
> Summary: The biggest mystery is finally solved. That doesn’t necessarily mean Yasha and Natasha like what they find.  
> Word Count: 24,759

Tony didn’t join them for dinner. He didn’t come to them after dinner either. And he wasn’t around to say good night. 

Natasha sat on the window sill, tapping her fingers against the glass over and over again. Not realizing she was doing so, she repeatedly tapped Tony in Morse code. 

Yasha had told her what had happened with Howard. In exchange, she had told him of her encounter with Tony. They were at a loss as to what to do now. 

They knew something was entirely wrong if everyone reacted to their questions with a refusal to answer or, in the case of the Starks, fled the scene. It made no sense. Why the mystery surrounding Tony’s mother? Why did everyone refuse to talk about her, what was so secret that it scared Tony, sent Jarvis’ mouth into a tight, straight line, and made Howard all but flee from the questions?

Yasha couldn’t sit still either as he turned it all over in his head. He felt anxious about the whole situation, and Natasha’s tapping didn’t help. His skin felt too tight, his body too hot. The fabric of his clothes was too soft, and at the same time grating on his skin. He wanted to scream, which was an urge he hadn’t had for… for a long time. 

They needed to _do_ something or he would go insane. He worried for his little brother, and… when had _that_ happened? Tony was now so much a part of Yasha’s life that he was equal to Natasha, the both of them precious to him. The realization was both frightening and wonderful.

He had to help. His protective instincts reared up in him. _He needed to help_. He wanted desperately to make it okay for Tony. Yasha wanted him to feel safe with them, like he had done with Natasha. He wanted to hold him, cuddle him to make the nightmares—

“Nightmares!”

How could he have forgotten? Their Tony tended to suffer more from nightmares whenever he got too stressed. If he believed Natasha, and Yasha never, ever would not believe her, Tony was more than stressed after being asked about his mother. Therefore, the little boy was most likely suffering through bad nightmares right about now, possibly wallowing in fear and perhaps… self-pity? Most feelings still were too confusing for Yasha to even grasp the concept of, but Tony and Jarvis had helped him with that. Tony because he was learning how to express emotions himself under Jarvis’s careful tutelage, and Jarvis because he had never not answered Yasha’s questions when he came to the butler about those things.

Now focused on his task to get to Tony and help him in whatever way possible, Yasha stood and his little Widow slipped next to him without a word, holding his hand as strongly as she could. Together they all but ran to their little brother’s room.

* * *

Sure enough, when they arrived, they found Tony’s door already opened, soft murmuring voices and a dim ray of light filtering out into the hall.

“It will be alright, young sir.”

That was Jarvis.

A soft, heart-squeezing wail was all the answer he got.

Natasha and Yasha hesitated for a moment, then they knocked on the open door and entered.

“Kitten? We—”

“I told you, Tony,” the butler’s voice was so tender, the name spoken with such care, it ached to hear it and not have it directed at oneself, “I told you they would come. It will be alright.”

The sobbing ebbed into sniffling and dark locks bounced slightly when a red-rimmed, puffy-eyed, tear-smeared face peered out at them from the butler’s arms. 

Tony’s eyes, despite being the dictionary definition of sadness, shone with a fragile hope as well.

Natasha rushed towards him, not caring for the butler’s presence, and threw herself at Tony's feet. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry, _kotenok_!”

She bent her head, baring her neck for him, just as she had seen a Black Widow do, when bested by another. Offering to accept punishment for her failure.

Yasha couldn’t blame her. He walked until he was next to her. Then he knelt, palms up as his hands rested on his wide-spread knees. Awaiting his punishment as well.

Jarvis was too stunned to say anything, and to say that Tony was overwhelmed would be a severe understatement. However, he struggled out of Jarvis’ hold and let himself sink next to his friends.

One tiny hand grabbed Natasha’s with all his strength, and his free arm slung around Yasha’s neck, cuddling as close as possible. Yasha's arms came up around him, bringing Natasha with him, and Tony cried in their safe embrace, while all three were watched over by Jarvis.

After they all settled down, they climbed up on Tony’s bed together at Jarvis’ urging. Once Yasha was settled with his back against the wall and both children on his lap, Tony started to whisper the story they had been waiting for. “I was even littler. Mama was always so tired. She wasn’t with me very much. Mama loved the piano, though. I tried to learn it to spend time with her. Mama had such a pretty laugh. I loved it. Mama was very pretty. Father told me my eyes are hers. I like my eyes best. Mama was best with cuddles, too.” 

He sniffled a little, wiping his face on his sleeve before he continued. “She was sick. She needed med- medic… pills, and shots sometimes. But she said she wanted to stop taking them. Father got mad, and Mama got madder. They yelled. They yelled at each other a lot.”

He paused then, a little shudder running through him. Natasha pressed closer, and Yasha wrapped his arms just a little more securely around them both. 

“But that night was bad. Mama yelled that she wanted to stop so she could be a real Mama to me. Father said bad things. Then Mama wanted to leave, but Father didn’t let her. He held her wrist. Ya-yank—pulled her back. Mama stumbled and hit her head. But not bad. She just was even more angry and ran to her room. Later she drove her car to a hop-hospi… to a doctor. She said she was going. She came to me before. She cried too. Said she wanted to stop the pills, and said and how much she loved me. Mama drove… but Mama never came back.” 

Tony’s voice was wobbling, and tears were streaming down his cheeks again. “Auntie Peggy told me she’s in heaven now, watching over me, but that’s not true…” His soft crying got worse, now coming out in sobs as his sentences started to tangle and fall apart. “If… if Mama was there, Father wouldn’t be so mean… But… but maybe… maybe she didn’t lie? Mama made Father bring you here… now I have you, right? You like me? I… I like you. I miss my Mama, it hurts…”

The heartbroken little boy couldn’t talk any longer. It wasn’t needed. Jarvis had shut the door while Tony talked, and now sat in the little chair next to the bed to watch over the hurt collection of broken people cuddled together. He stroked Tony’s head soothingly, running his long, aged fingers through the soft dark curls. Natasha had tightened her arms, her hand gripping Tony’s as reassuringly as she could, and Yasha held them both, surrounding them in warmth and protection. They whispered the sweetest things they knew, over and over, telling Tony how they _did_ like him. How much they wanted to protect him. How Yasha would be his big brother now, and Natasha his little sister. How they would be their own little family.

They continued well after Tony fell asleep, totally exhausted from the outpouring of difficult emotion. Yasha and Natasha kept up their reassurances until they couldn’t fight it anymore either, and drifted off to sleep as well, still holding on to Tony and to each other.

Jarvis left for a moment to write down some instructions for the staff, which he left on a table in the hall, and to ensure that the beddoor was locked. Then the old man sat back in his chair, angled so that he could see the bed, the door, and the window all at once. He kept watch over the sleeping trio for the rest of the night.


	17. An Act of Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Yasha and Natasha, speaking Russian is their comfort, their security blanket. Their little brother has picked up on it, and isn’t that something? Hearing his voice speaking in their familiar, beloved language. Their bond with Tony is so strong so full of love, that when the bruises register, neither of them are above murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed posting, darlings. Real life came for both of us this past week with a vengeance. Posting should be back to normal now, every 2 or 3 days. But for now, have an extra long chapter!
> 
> And go read those tags again, because some of them kick in hardcore in this chapter.

_June 1980_

It had been several busy weeks in the Stark mansion. Natasha and Yasha spent as much free time with Antoshka as they could, but he was so rarely around. According to Jarvis, he had some galas he had to attend with his father, in addition to his schooling. Why a boy of barely five years needed to attend events for adults was beyond them. Natasha had been more than confused as to why Stark had spent literal thousands of dollars for a birthday party where Tony wasn’t allowed to have fun. He didn't even get any presents.

Also, there were some things going on with SHIELD, of which they weren’t informed about.

Not that Jarvis or Tony hadn’t left some comments here or there. Or that Yasha couldn’t hear Stark discussing things with Peggy Carter-Sousa (some interesting memories there) in a volume he couldn’t overhear. Over the weeks since Tony had told them about Maria, everything started to make more sense.

Natasha had been furious the morning after they’d found Tony sobbing in Jarvis’ arms, had wanted to hunt Stark down and finish him off. The broken but still understandable Russian plea from Tony put a hold on that, for now. Neither Yasha nor Natasha had been aware that the boy started to pick up on Russian, and they’d been so startled to hear him try to speak it that it had chased away most of their anger.

And now that they knew, Tony outright asked for lessons on how to speak the language more fluently. On the one hand, they felt warm and fuzzy about it. After all, it meant that Antoshka really cared for them, as they did for him. 

On the other hand, it left them bewildered at how fast a learner he was. And on the other... Here they were, a grown man with a memory like swiss cheese, and a little Widow who had been top of the class but had clung to too much of her own mind to be of use. Yet, such an innocent soul as Tony cared for them enough to learn the language they felt most comfortable with.

It made them feel less broken. 

Another one of those long, boring galas had taken place that evening and Jarvis had told them the family would be late. They were waiting in Tony’s room for the boy to return when they heard an odd sound, one that wasn’t part of the regular noises of the house. There was no yelling, no screaming, just a faraway _thunk_ , and further stillness. At first they shrugged it off, but soon another noise followed. Something between a yelp and a stumble. Or perhaps both.

Yasha looked down, locking eyes with Natasha. In her eyes shone the same determination that he felt. As soon as they left Tony’s room, they could hear another muffled noise. The sound led them to Stark's study. Curiously they peered through the crack at the edge of the nearly shut door. Yasha could only see Stark standing in the corner with his back to them, gesticulating wildly.

Natasha, however, could see between the legs of the older man. And what she saw enraged her.

With a wild shriek that made the hairs on the back of Yasha’s neck rise, Natasha pulled something shiny and deadly out of the pocket of her pants, and flung herself towards Stark.

Yasha only barely caught her in time, lunging forward and holding her back as the pocketknife in her hand came within inches of the man that had spun around and stumbled drunkenly at the racket.

She was screaming at Stark in Russian, spitting out curses and vows that many adults didn’t know, much less a child. And from her words, Yasha finally understood what had sent her into this bewildering rage.

His eyes found Tony, cowering on the floor in the corner, his face wet with tears and his body shaking, though he made no noise. And on his round, smooth cheek was a darkening bruise.

Yasha let go of his little sister, urging her in the direction of the little boy. She paused, glaring up at him, until she saw what was on his face. Then she moved quickly out of his way.

In one powerful movement, Yasha had grabbed Stark by the throat and slammed him against the wall, rattling the books on the bookcase behind him. The drunken man yelled and spluttered, wheezing as the wind was knocked out of him, his hands scrabbling at Yasha’s metal arm.

Natasha went to Tony, curling herself around him, her red hair mixing with his dark locks as she pressed their heads together and whispered to him comfortingly, “Yasha will protect you. I will protect you.”

Tony didn’t speak, just closed his eyes and turned his face into Natasha’s shoulder, his body still shaking with suppressed sobs.

Yasha was nearly seeing red as his gaze swung from the two children to Stark, his own body trembling with a rage that almost frightened him.

“You dare to lay your hands on a child.” He hissed, and Stark managed to glare at him despite his reddening face.

“He’s my son! I’ll do what I want with him, the useless brat! He’s just like his mother, just as—” He choked as Yasha tightened his grip, cutting off the rest of his words.

“You _ever_ lay a hand on him again, or harm him in any way,” Yasha leaned closer, making sure his words were very, very clear as he snarled right in Stark’s face, “Next time, I will not make her stop. I will teach her how to skin you alive, for the sole purpose of causing you pain. She’s a very fast learner. Very good with a blade. I will watch as she kills you slowly, and I will smile about it.”

Stark’s face went pale as he struggled to breathe, his hands stilling with fear, and with one more subtle growl, Yasha dropped him. The man's knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor like a broken doll, heaving in rough breaths, but he did not concern Yasha anymore.

Crouching down next to the children, Yasha carefully smoothed the hair back from Tony’s face, his thumb barely touching the livid bruise on his cheek. Tony shuddered, a tiny whimper escaping him, his hand tightening where it had fisted in Natasha’s shirt.

“It’s just Yasha,” the little girl soothed, nudging at Tony’s head with her own. “Yasha won’t hurt you. He’s my brother and he won’t hurt you.”

Tony opened his eyes slowly, tilting his head so he could look up at Yasha. His eyes were red, wet with tears, and for a moment Yasha was the Asset again, his mind fracturing as children cried and screamed in pain before him, because of what he’d done.

He blinked hard, twitching at the memory, and felt Natasha’s hand on his own, her grip pulling him back.

With great care, Yasha lifted both the children into his arms. Tony stiffened for a moment, clearly still frightened and prepared for more pain, refusing to let go of Natasha. But in a moment he shuddered out a wet sigh and went limp against Yasha’s chest, his hand instead clenching in the collar of Yasha’s shirt.

Natasha likewise rested her head on Yasha’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck easily. She found Tony’s other hand and held it, against the back of Yasha’s neck.

He didn’t take Tony to his own bedroom. Instead, Yasha took all three of them to the bedroom that he and Natasha stayed in. He didn’t bother to ask Natasha if she wanted to put her pajamas on, just put her and Tony down on the bed, and watched as she urged Tony to get under the covers with her.

The little boy was still shaking, but he wasn’t crying anymore, having wiped away the tears on his cheeks with the sleeve of the small suit he wore. He meekly did as Natasha told him, taking off his jacket, tiny bowtie, and shoes, then curling up under the covers next to her and closing his eyes.

Natasha started humming then, something Yasha didn’t recognize at first through the loud hum of anger and aggression still ringing in his ears. Then he realized it was one of Tony’s songs, one that he played on the piano, the one Natasha liked best. She had told Yasha it made her feel like a calm ocean, which was the closest thing to peace either of them had ever known.

Yasha laid down on the other side of the bed, pulling his own blanket over him as he listened to Natasha humming. It didn’t take long for Tony to fall asleep, his little body clearly exhausted and overwhelmed from what had happened. Yasha listened to his heartbeat slow down and finally sink into the calm, steady rhythm of sleep. Natasha was not far behind him, though she could no longer sleep deeply like Tony could.

A noise in the hall had Yasha’s eyes flipping open, and he had a knife in his hand instantly. Natasha likewise had sprung into wakefulness without moving a muscle, her sharp eyes trained on the door.

If it was Stark, Yasha would kill him where he stood.

There was a light tap on the door, and Yasha recognized the Jarvis' voice. “Sergeant Barnes?”

The door cracked open, and the old man’s worried eyes flew immediately to the bed. He seemed to sag in his skin when he saw Tony there, sleeping peacefully. A shaking hand went to his face, covering his eyes for a moment, and they were damp when they rested on Yasha

“Thank you,” he whispered unsteadily, with so much sincerity and gratitude that Yasha felt uncomfortable.

So he just nodded, and watched as the butler came across the room quietly. His hands were light and gentle as he put a hand on Tony’s head, and his chin trembled when he saw the bruise on the little boy’s cheek. Brushing a feather-light kiss to Tony’s dark head, Jarvis smiled at Natasha, his eyes soft, then nodded at Yasha. Murmuring another “Thank you,” he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He turned the lock on the inside doorknob before he did, making the room a little more secure as he left.

Natasha shifted, settling down again and sighing, ready to go back to sleep as she carefully curled around Tony to protect him as he slept.

Yasha laid awake for some time. Sleep didn’t come to him easily anyway, and often wasn’t restful. Particularly when his emotions were running high. He stared at the dark ceiling above him, listened to the two heartbeats next to him, breathed slow and deep so his body could rest, though his mind didn’t.

It was a long time before he finally slept, but when at last he did, it was some of the most restful sleep he could remember having.

* * *

Jarvis came to the room early in the morning, when the sky was just starting to lighten. Yasha was awake instantly when he heard the soft tap at the door, and he slid noiselessly out of bed to answer it.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I’m sorry, but I need to collect Tony. His tutors will be here soon, and he needs to be ready for them.”

Yasha’s jaw clenched, and his hand tightened on the doorknob. “He needs to rest. He needs sleep, he needs—”

“I know,” Jarvis said, sounding so very tired, and the wrinkles on his face seemed so much deeper. “I can only do so much, sir. Tony excelling in his studies is one of the things that Mr. Stark insists upon most strongly. To let Tony have even one day off would just make it worse for him.”

“I nearly killed Stark last night.” Yasha said abruptly, his voice flat and calm. “I had his throat under my hand, and it would have been easy to crush it.”

“I’ve entertained the idea more than once myself,” Jarvis replied dryly, taking Yasha by surprise. He smiled a little at seeing it. “I’ll take care of Tony. I promise. I’ll give him medicine for the pain, and ensure that he won’t have to see Mr. Stark today. In fact, I believe Mr. Stark may be leaving on another business trip soon. That will be good, for everyone. But for now, I do need to take Tony.”

Yasha didn’t want to. He didn’t want Tony to leave his sight, he wanted to protect and hold and coddle the boy until the bruises on that little face had faded, and the sadness in his eyes had disappeared.

He knew he couldn’t, however.

With a sharp nod, he stepped back to allow the butler to enter the room. Yasha got Tony himself, though, lifting the sleeping boy into his arms and cradling him to his chest for a moment. Natasha was awake, watching and listening, and Yasha could sense the same reluctance in her that he was struggling with himself.

Yasha transferred Tony to Jarvis’s arms gently, smoothing a hand over the little boy's head when he mumbled and fluttered his eyelashes. 

“When can we see him again?”

“We’ll all have lunch in the kitchen together. Twelve thirty. I’ll let him know.”

Nodding, grateful for at least that, Yasha watched as Jarvis went down the hall, eyes on the butler and the boy in his arms until they disappeared around a corner.

* * *

Tony watched the kitchen door nervously, fidgeting and restless as he helped Jarvis set the table for lunch. His stomach had been in knots all day long, ever since he’d woken up in Jarvis’ arms in his room that morning. 

He’d been bad last night, and now Natasha and Yasha knew it. Usually he could hide it when he’d been bad, when his father got angry enough to hurt him. But they’d seen last night, now they knew, and Tony didn’t know what to think.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes, Tony. Don’t worry. They won’t be late.”

That wasn’t what Tony was worried about.

After a moment, he realized that Jarvis was looking at him hard, and that made him fidget worse. “What?”

“I was just thinking. Perhaps I told them the wrong time. Can you go tell them that lunch is ready?”

Tony looked up at Jarvis with wide eyes, fear curling in his stomach. He didn’t want to see them. What if they were angry with him? What if they didn’t like him anymore because they knew how bad he’d been, making his father angry?

“It’s alright, Tony. They’ll be glad to see you. Run along now.”

Tony dragged his feet as he went to the room Yasha and Natasha stayed in. He hoped that it would take him forever to get to their door, that perhaps he never would, but far too soon, he did.

His hand shook as he knocked on their door, and he had to stop himself from running away.

A moment later the door opened, and Natasha peered out at him. To Tony’s surprise, a small smile curved her mouth, and she looked glad to see him.

“Hello, kitten. We were just coming.” She held the door open and invited Tony inside, taking his hand and tugging him over to the window. To his surprise, she hopped up on the windowsill, then patted it and looked at him expectantly.

Was that allowed? Tony was sure that his father would be very angry if he caught anyone sitting on the windowsill.

Although… given how frightening Natasha had been last night, with a knife in her hand and fury in her eyes, perhaps his father didn’t get angry at other people like he did with Tony.

Feeling as if he were going to be caught any moment, Tony scrambled up onto the windowsill with Natasha’s help. He liked how well he could see outside, he could see all the way down the street from this high.

Tony glanced around the room, wondering where Yasha was hiding before hearing the sink turn on in the bathroom. Then he realized that Natasha was looking at him very seriously, her green eyes so steady it was almost unnerving. He jumped a little, but her voice was soft when she spoke.

“Yasha and I have made a decision.”

Immediately, all the worst possible scenarios leapt into Tony’s head. They didn’t vary much, all of them involved the two of them leaving, leaving Tony alone again, with his father.

Father would be so very, very angry if they left. And without Yasha there to protect him… Tony shuddered, the phantom sensation of hard, cruel hands on him all too vivid.

Natasha reached out suddenly, breaking Tony out of his thoughts as she gently cupped his face in her small hands, a frown on her face. “ _Kotenok_ , come back to me.”

“Sorry,” he whispered, gaze falling. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, though. Just a little.

“No. You do not be sorry with me. Just be here with me, because I have something good to tell you.”

Just like that, she had Tony’s full attention again, and he was torn between nervousness and curiosity as she withdrew her hands, but scooted close enough that their knees touched. “What is it?”

“You remember how I told you that Yasha is my brother? Not by blood, but by something stronger?”

Tony nodded.

“Well, you are too. You are our brother, Antoshka. You are our family. Like Jarvis is your family.”

Tony’s brows furrowed. “But… is that allowed?”

Natasha smiled a little and put her hands on his shoulders now. “Yes. Because I say so. You are my little brother, and I will never let anyone hurt you ever again.”

Tears welled up in Tony’s eyes, the relief and love and even a little bit of fear overwhelming him completely. “You’re littler than me.” He whispered, his lip trembling as he tried to smile back.

Natasha just made a snorting sound. “So I can be your little sister too. Words are not important.” She slid a hand down and put it over his chest, where his heart was beating. “This is important.”

“Listen to Natasha,” A deep voice said from the doorway to the bathroom, and Tony’s head whipped around to see Yasha standing there, leaning against the frame with his arms folded. He would have been terrifying, if not for the tiny smile on his face. “She’s very smart and stubborn.”

“I am.” Natasha said proudly, tossing her red hair.

Tony giggled, some of the emotion bottled up inside him leaking out. “And silly.”

With a loud gasp of faux offense, Natasha threw herself at Tony, bowling him right off the windowsill and onto the floor, rolling him over and sitting right on his stomach. “How dare you call me silly!”

“Hey, now, none of that.” Yasha came into the room, scooping Natasha up around the waist with one arm, and grabbing Tony the same way with the other. He carried them both to the bed, rolling them onto the soft surface before sinking into it himself. He sighed deeply as he laid back, then held out both arms.

Natasha immediately curled up against his side with her head on his shoulder, looking content, and Tony slowly followed her example. Yasha was big and warm, and when Tony laid his head down on his chest, he could hear Yasha’s heart. His arm, the real one, not the metal one, curled around Tony, hugging him close. And then Natasha’s hand crept over his chest, and held on to Tony’s.

Tony couldn’t remember ever thinking about having a brother or sister. He’d heard of them, but never understood. He did now, though. He had a big brother, and a little big sister. They smiled at him sometimes, and they didn’t smile a lot. They liked to listen to him play piano, they listened to him talk about his studies. They always seemed to know when he was having nightmares, and would always hold him close when he woke up. They found him every day, no matter how busy he was with his tutors, and they never called him stupid or worthless or disappointing.

And they were both touching him right now without hurting him.

Yasha started quietly humming, a soft song that felt like a lullaby. Natasha whispered the lyrics as he hummed, and it was such a pretty song.

“That’s my lullaby,” Natasha murmured as she stroked Tony’s cheek with her small fingers. "Now it’s yours too. You’re part of us.”

One little tear leaked out the corner of Tony’s eye, and instantly soaked into Yasha’s shirt. It wasn’t a sad tear, though. Tony hadn’t ever known before that tears could be happy. He knew now, though.

A growling sort of noise yanked Tony out of his thoughts, and he looked down at Yasha’s stomach.

“Oh! It’s lunchtime!” He sat up quickly. “Jarvis sent me to get you for lunch!”

“Good. I’m hungry.” Yasha replied, and in a moment the three of them were walking to the kitchen together, Tony and Natasha on either side of their big brother, holding his hands.

And even though it made his cheek a little sore, Tony couldn’t seem to stop smiling.


	18. Time Flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more than a year has passed, and Tony feels that it's finally the time right to show his beloved adopted siblings how much they mean to him. To say that Natasha and Yasha love their present would be severely understating it.

_June 1981_

Tony had finished his curriculum for the day, and was almost unbearably excited when his last instructor left. The six-year-old boy had promised Yasha and Natasha a surprise, and he was bursting to finally show it to them. He knew that Natka was going to love his gift, and he hoped that Yasha would be as excited as well. Since the two had saved him from his Fa—from Howard a little over a year ago, Tony had been mostly ignored by the man. There hadn’t been much of a difference from before, actually, except that Howard didn’t get angry at him and hurt him anymore.

There had been a difference with his brother and sister, though. Since that night when they had saved him, they had seemed to have brought Tony into the little circle of love and affection that they shared with one another. It reminded him a little of when his mama had been alive. She had loved hugging Tony, he could sit in her lap when she stayed in bed, and she would sing to him. Sometimes when she was feeling better, she would sit with him at the piano, showing him how to play, her arm wrapped warm around him as she kissed the top of his head.

It was like that now with Yasha and Natasha. They cuddled him and hugged him and touched him, and Tony never had enough. It made him love them even more, want to be with them all the time. But Jarvis had told him that was okay. Neither Natka nor Yasha seemed to mind at all, and they gladly gave him whatever kind of physical affection he asked for.

But still, Tony wanted to thank his Russian siblings, and had decided to surprise them. Jarvis had helped him orchestrate this meeting in the piano room, and he went there the moment he was free from his studies. He was early though, and the longer he waited, the more anxious he got. He started to jiggle his leg and bite his lips as he sat on the piano bench, then as the minutes passed, he bounced in his seat.

As he debated getting up, just to walk around a little (and maybe peek out the door to see if they were coming), a firm knock at the door let him know his guests had arrived. The door was opened carefully. “ _Kotenok_ ? Jarvis said you needed help with your practice?”

Tony smiled at the nickname Yasha used for him, and beamed at the two of them over his shoulder. Without answering, he hovered his small fingers over the keys. He closed his eyes, listening to the soft sound of his siblings' feet on the floor and the nearly inaudible click of the door closing. He heard how Natka drew in a breath, could see in his mind’s eye how she was forming words and dismissing them without speaking yet.

A soft, content smile settled on his lips and he pressed the first note. The second followed before the first faded out and soon those notes were followed by his voice. With slightly clumsy words and a heavy accent, he started to sing the Russian lullaby. His Natasha's lullaby.

_“Crickets are singing outside the window,  
Fireflies flock in flocks  
The cat sleeps at my feet  
You too, fall asleep, my child._

_The dream will lead us on a path,  
Through the forest.  
We will walk and  
Pick strawberries._

_We will pick wild strawberries  
And weave a wreath for you  
Of the wild flowers -  
With a blue forget-me-not._

_In the deep the lake will sparkle,  
The wind will swing the boat  
We will sail on it,  
Chasing a pair of swans._

_White lilies dance,  
Meet us on the surface of the water,  
The fish will dive deep  
Splashing with its tailfin._

_Far away the horn will sing,  
It’s calling us to the meadow,  
Where the little sheep grazes, grazes,  
sheeps and goats._

_Every day they are attracted here  
The green grass for them.  
And a forest stream,  
With clean fresh water._

_At sunset, the shepherd,  
will lead his goats and sheep,  
To their homes  
Every evening they are awaiting there._

_At night the crickets will sing  
for them their lullaby,  
You too should sleep my little girl,  
Go to sleep, my baby girl.”_

When he finished, the last note lingering together with the last word, Tony turned his head towards his siblings, eyes full of curiosity and hope. He hoped that he hadn’t overstepped a line with this and was curious to see how they liked it, how Natka liked it especially. He chewed on his bottom lip before he started again, this time a soft song he knew Yasha loved.

Tony played and played, some songs that he sang along with, others as quiet as the piano allowed. After an hour or more, he finally ended with a song he knew by heart, his mama’s song. He still felt a bubble of anxiety. Sure, he had practiced all these songs over and over again so he could give this little gift to his family. However, his accent was still prominent and he felt off when he sang in something other than Italian or English.

When he stood from his bench, a clear sign that he was done. But... they just stared at him. Which he usually didn't mind, his siblings were often quiet, but... they weren't smiling either, and they rarely didn't smile at him. Then, the tiniest little sniffle escaped Natasha. Yasha's strong arms were immediately there, holding the both of them gently against his strong chest.

Natka's eyes more than her lips showed her gratitude and yet the slightly mispronounced “ _Grazie, tesoro,_ ” had Tony’s eyes growing wet and his heart swelling. It had been so long since he heard a female voice whispering in Italian to him. To hear, to know that his _sorella_ had started to learn his mama’s language like he had learned Russian… if Tony hadn’t already felt like Natka was his, then that would have been the moment.

* * *

When the last song ended, Natasha’s breath hitched and a tiny shake went through her small body. She had expected the worst when Jarvis had asked her and Yasha to meet Tony in the music room, like her little brother bleeding or with broken bones. But to be gifted this? She had no words to describe how it made the cold that always seemed to live inside her recede. Not that she was feeling that cold most days now. This beautiful, small, genuine, and genius boy had all but vanquished the remaining freezing touch of Mother Russia’s landscape and the people harboring on her soil.

Certainly, there still were days when she felt more like ice than human, but both Yasha and Antoshka were always quick to change that. Yasha with his strong and gentle arms embracing her, holding her, grounding her. Antoshka with his radiant smiles, soft touches, always touching, heavily accented whispers in foreign languages, some of Slavic origin, others of Latin. It was as if he just knew which language would make her cringe or laugh or smile because he never used one which would make her feel wrong in her skin in those moments.

And now he was gifting her this. A song she had been taught, remembered from her mother, a song she had taught Yasha who in return sang it to them both. But the way Antoshka changed the words, the way he had looked at her before he started, there was no doubt left for Natasha. Antoshka performed that lullaby for her.

When the song had ended, she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Thankfully, Antoshka continued, so she and Yasha settled close to the piano on the floor where pillows had already been set out. With a wry smile on her lips she thought, _Our kitten knows us well._

The final note of a song they all knew by heart, a song they had heard Tony play many times, his mother’s song, rang out and silence took its place. Tentatively, as if he didn’t know what to do, Tony slipped from the piano bench and looked at them. Reminiscent of their first meeting, he shuffled his feet, a nervous twitching of his left hand barely under control.

Natasha didn’t exactly know what she wanted to say to him, didn’t know if any words could describe the peace and gratefulness that he had given her with his music. Her eyes flickered imploringly to her older brother, but by the look of it, Yasha was as lost as they were. Every second Antoshka looked more and more nervous, and something close to panic started to fill his eyes. That wouldn’t do. He was never supposed to look like that at her or Yasha. Then to Natasha’s horror, instead of all those grateful words and encouragements she wanted to say, a soft sniffle left her.

In seconds both her brothers were embracing her. Antoshka’s cheek pressed to hers, Yasha’s nose buried in her hair. Strong, warm arms surrounding them, the metal one in peak condition thanks to both Stark and Antoshka’s constant inspections. Her small arm snuck as far as it could around Yasha’s waist, and Natasha’s fists clenched in Tony’s and Yasha’s clothing to hold them close as she whispered her thanks to her little brother.

Soon it wasn't her sniffles alone. Soft murmurs of _spasiba_ , _grazie_ , and _thank you_ filled whatever quietness was in between.

Unbeknownst to them all, a silent man stood outside the room, standing watch and keeping the other staff out. Jarvis’ heart hadn’t been this full of love since the day he held Tony as a baby, and for the first time since his mother had died, he felt as though Tony was finally part of a family again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here is the lullaby that J chose for Natasha!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFRHJuD0elI)
> 
> Translations for Italian:  
> sorella - sister  
> tesoro - treasure


	19. A Fate Undeserved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have lived in relative bliss for the past few years, this little found family. Then Howard Stark makes a decision concerning his son’s future and Yash—Bucky!—has a heated discussion with the man. The result is nothing but pain.

_Summer 1983_

Howard sighed long and deep as he sat down in his study, his hand already reaching for the crystal decanter of scotch he kept on the desk. He’d been busy all day, approving new weapon designs for R&D to test, researching, attending meetings at SI Headquarters. And the conversation earlier with Obadiah. He was looking forward to the blissful numbing that a few glasses would bring him.

He had poured out half a glass when a shadow detached itself from the wall, and Barnes stepped forward. Howard startled, nearly breaking the glass on the edge of the decanter.

“Barnes! What the hell are you doing in here?”

The guy didn’t waste any time. “I know what you’re planning to do. And I won’t let you.”

Howard snorted. “What are you talking about? And why are you lurking in my private office?”

“I heard you talking with Stane. I know what you’re planning on doing, sending Tony away. I won’t let you do it.”

Ignoring the flash of irritation that rose up in him at being spied on, Howard just raised one eyebrow at Barnes and took a long drink of his whiskey. “Far as I can see it, I don’t think you can stop me from doing anything.”

“He is a _child_. He deserves more than to be dismissed from your sight like an unwanted pet, banished across the country because you don’t want to deal with him anymore. He will not be safe!”

“What he is or is not doesn’t really concern you, Barnes.”

“Yes it does.” Barnes’ eyes were blazing now, burning into Howard’s, and a ribbon of fear threaded through him before he pushed it away. “He and Natasha are as close to family as I can have. I will not let you mistreat him more than you already have.”

“That’s all well and good, Barnes, but guess what?” Howard stood up, his jaw clenched, and he was grateful that he’d always been a tall man. He’d intimidated more than a few people with it in his time. “You’re not his father. I am. And what I say goes.”

Barnes took a step forward, and despite himself Howard swallowed hard. There was murder in every line of the man’s body, and his eyes seemed to glint with danger. “I stopped you once from doing Tony harm. I’m not afraid to do so again.”

“And what then, huh? You think you can get away with doing harm to me without repercussions? I’ve been protecting you this long, keeping your identity a secret, using SHIELD resources on your behalf. But I can guarantee you that won’t continue if you keep trying to interfere with the way I raise my son.”

Barnes was quiet for a moment, almost long enough that Howard felt triumphant that he’d won this particular battle. But then he spoke again, soft but deadly, his accented English something that Howard hated with every fiber of his being.

“Perhaps it would be better if you weren’t around anymore. Tony would finally be away from you, out from under your abuse, your neglect and your disdain. Peggy and the Jarvises are already better parents to him than you are, things would only improve once they became his guardians.”

Howard laughed without a single trace of mirth. “If anything happens to me, custody doesn’t go to Jarvis. Or to Peggy. Tony will go to Obadiah.”

Barnes’ mouth dropped open slightly in shock. “What?”

“Got you there, don’t I? See, I learned something last time you threatened me. It was obvious that Tony was a weak spot of yours, almost as much as that little brat you call your sister. And I know Jarvis likes you. He has ever since you started babying Tony, protecting him from me. Why would I leave Tony with Jarvis, when I know that just puts him right in your hands? Same with Peggy. She’s always liked you, she did back in the 40’s and she still does now, even though there’s nothing the same. The man who used to stand at Captain America’s side isn’t even in there anymore, is he? You’re not Bucky. You’re just the monster that wears his face. And I’ll be damned if I let you be the one that influences my son, no matter how much of a disappointment he already is.”

In a surge of anger, Howard flung his glass at the wall, and it shattered in a spray of shards. Barnes didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink, but his face was so hard it was all but set in stone. Howard almost didn’t see him leave, he was gone that quick, and in his absence Howard fell back down into his chair with a thump. His hands shook as he reached for another glass, pouring more scotch, but he didn’t pay the trembling any mind.

He’d won this time. And there wasn’t a damn thing Barnes could do about it.

* * *

“ _Nyet!_ ” Natasha screamed, flinging a brush off the vanity table in her bedroom and smashing into a lamp across the room. “It’s not enough! Go to him again! Make him change his mind!”

Bucky watched her with somber, lifeless eyes, understanding her rage all too well. “It’s too late, Natka. I can’t. He won’t listen to me.”

“Then get rid of him,” She spat, her hands balled into fists, green eyes sparking with fury. “He is not worth the breath in his lungs if he sends Antoshka away. I’ll do it. He won’t even feel it, not unless I want him to. Then Antoshka will finally be free, and we can take him away from this horrible place.”

“Natka…” Bucky sighed, feeling an unusual heaviness weighing on his body, his very soul. “We can’t. It would only be bad for Tony.”

“How?! What could be worse than sending him away?”

“If anything happens to Howard, Stane will get custody.”

The shock on Natasha’s face was clear. “ _What?!_ But what about Jarvis? Peggy?”

“He told me himself. I’m sure he’s already made arrangements in his will.”

“That _bastard_.” Natasha seethed. “That unimaginable bastard.”

“You see now. Why my hands are tied. Our hands.”

Natasha’s mind was churning, Bucky could tell, trying to think of a solution. “We can kidnap him. He won’t mind. We can even make sure that Jarvis knows where we are, can visit.”

“Stark would find us.”

“He is just one man, Yasha! One man! What can he do against us together?”

“It’s not just him, Natka. He runs SHIELD with Peggy. He has more connections around the world than we could hope to outrun, in both high and low places. There’s nowhere we could go that we would be guaranteed to be safe.”

“Peggy would—”

“Peggy wouldn’t go against Howard. Not with this. They are friends, even if she knows the kind of man he is. She still hopes that he will be better.”

It was proof of how upset she was, when Natasha’s eyes glimmered with tears. Bucky had only seen it happen a few times in the years they’d been together. Suddenly, he wanted to reach out and pull her to his chest, hold her close like he did when she was little. She was still small for her age, she could bury her face in his chest and wrap her arms around him tight and they could take strength from each other.

But no. She was getting too old for that now, almost nine years old. Building up her walls so high that soon even Bucky wouldn’t be able to reach over them. It was ironic, actually. Had they not escaped from the Red Room, Bucky knew that Natasha would have been the deadliest, most celebrated Widow that ever would have come out of there. A legend.

She was staring at him now, possibly even seeing what he was thinking. Her face had softened slightly, but only just, and her voice was rough when she spoke. “I can’t let him take Antoshka away from me, Yasha. I can’t. I can’t watch him go away.”

A stab of pain lanced through Bucky, the kind of agony that only came with heartache. “I know. I know, Natka.”

“We have to do something. _Anything_.” She was desperate now, her eyes pleading with him to fix it, begging her big brother to chase away the monsters.

It shattered something inside Bucky when he had to look at her, see the pain on her face, and tell her in a whisper, “I’m sorry.”


	20. You Take My Home With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is being sent to boarding school across the country, and he’s very displeased about it. Reflecting upon the recent changes in his life, he can’t help but snuggle a bit closer to Yasha and Natka.

From a purely logical point of view, Tony knew why he was going to boarding school. He had learned all there was to learn from the private tutors and professors Howard had managed to acquire. And it wasn't that Howard couldn’t afford to hire more or wiser men, it was the lack of security and secrecy that led to a shortage of _qualified_ men. And while his godmother Peggy was busier than ever since she had met Bucky (and seriously, if Tony had his way, his big brother would stop using that ridiculous name) and had been told more about Hydra, Tony’s godfather, Obadiah, had been around a lot, suggesting things here and there. Things like boarding school. 

Before Buck—no, Yasha!—and Nat had stumbled in his life, Tony had been following the older men around him like a lost puppy, especially Uncle Obie and Jarvis. He scrunched up his nose when he reflected upon the behavior of his four-year-old self. Both Nat and Yasha had taken the time and taught him that most of the things Howard said and Obie asked of him were not normal. Yes, fine, Anthony wasn’t the average Joe, but he also wasn’t an adult yet. Despite his many protests, Jarvis, God bless him, and Ana both, kept treating him like a child, reminding him that he was indeed only eight years old. 

Yes, they took him seriously, but he had a curfew, he was restricted in what he could or couldn't consume, and they tried to give him as much free time to play with Nat and Yasha as was possible with his busy schedule. His siblings in all but blood had been with him for four years now. They protected him, taught him, trained him in self-defense with Jarvis while Ana pursed her lips with displeasure.

Over time, those four had been more of a family than Tony could ever remember Howard being. Even the sparse good memories with his mother weren’t measuring up to what he had found in Ana Jarvis. So yes, while he understood that for further education and to get more “socially adapted”, as Howard had put it, Tony needed to have new experiences. And yes, Obie was right about boarding school being just that. Also, sure, Auntie Peggy was correct in assuming that he would love to get to know other children and make a new friend, maybe even lots of friends.

But to hell with all the logic. Tony just didn’t want to go. And he had no qualms about voicing this loudly to his family (his _real_ family, not Howard), the night before he would be leaving to attend a boys boarding school in the Midwest.

“The nerve of him! Sure, I never expected him to actually ask me what I wanted, but to just register me at the second best boarding school—which is halfway across the country, at that!—instead of a local one with more prestige, or even a normal school! I... _argh!_ ”

Tony was pacing. Every step the eight-year-old took was filled with irritation and frustration at the situation. Nat was sitting calmly on her windowsill, flicking pages of her favorite book back and forth, appearing uninterested at his outburst. Still, Tony knew better. He had her full attention. Yasha didn’t even bother to pretend not to listen. He sat, stoic-faced, hair braided back, and flicking a knife in his hand up and down, eyes trailing Tony as he stormed back and forth. The Jarvises stood nearby too, but stayed quiet to let him rant and vent.

“I mean… Yes, sure, I get why I should expand my horizon! I really do, but why do I have to do that so far away? Why not here?! It’s not like I’d see both of you every day anyway, since you two decided to move to your own place!” He pointed an accusing finger towards Natasha and Yasha. 

If Tony still felt sour and betrayed by this development, so sue him. For years the three of them had more or less shared everything, only rarely had Yasha needed private time, or Nat some privacy for her more vicious moments. Tony had believed they’d stay with each other for the rest of Nat’s and his childhood, maybe even until Tony took over SI someday, or, and this was just a foolish childish hope, to never separate at all.

It had come out of the blue, the day Yasha had told him that he had found a small apartment for himself and Nat, and that they would move out by the end of the next month. Before Tony even had a chance to reply, Yasha had walked away, leaving the boy standing in the middle of the corridor like a dog in the rain, waiting for their owner to come get them. If he hadn’t had lessons straight after, Tony probably would have run after Yasha and demanded answers.

As it had been, he didn’t get a chance for the rest of the day, and that evening both Nat and Yasha just shrugged it off, telling him it was high time that they left. Needless to say, Tony did not agree. A week later, it had escalated into a full-blown screaming match, at least on Tony’s side, until, for the first time ever, Yasha raised his voice at Tony. 

“I can’t believe you both!” Tony had yelled, fighting back tears as he glared at his siblings. “Why the _hell_ would you leave me here and move out on your own?! YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU COULD WANT!” Tony was starting to scream himself hoarse by that point, but he didn’t care. He was also so angry that he couldn’t see the moment when Yasha had enough. 

Before Tony could continue, Yasha cut him off with a slash of his hand through the air, his face dark with anger. “ENOUGH! _We’re not betraying you or leaving you behind! Stupid boy!_ ”

Thankfully, or perhaps sadly in that case, Tony understood Russian fluently, the words _stupid boy_ hitting him like a slap in the face, cutting deeply. Flinching as if he’d been physically struck, he had taken a step back, shoulders hunched, making himself smaller, less of a target.

When Yasha had realized what Tony was doing, shrinking in on himself out of fear, he had immediately regretted his outburst. Scrubbing his metal hand over his face, he had sighed and taken several calming breaths. When he seemed calm enough not to lose it again, Yasha fixed his gaze on Tony, steel-gray eyes as tender as ever. “I’m sorry, Antonio. I didn’t mean to scream.” He had chosen to speak in Italian that time, because he knew it soothed Tony best. But he continued in Russian, because Tony knew neither Natasha nor he lied to him in Russian.

They had omitted things while speaking English, before. Lying by omission. But never, not once, had they withheld information while they spoke Russian. It was something Tony always found curious, but hadn’t asked about yet. He listened, almost reluctantly, as his older brother talked quietly.

“ _Since Director Carter knows about us, Natasha and I have become a risk to you. Stark knows not to hurt you. We will still keep an eye on you. We will still meet with you. But the more people that know of us, know that we’re here, the higher the chance that Hydra will come for us. We don’t want to put you in harm's way, little brother. You are precious to us, you know that. Natasha kicked me in the shin when I told her we had to leave._ ”

Light steps brought Yasha closer to him. “ _We hate to leave you. But we have to. In order to protect you._ ”

Tony’s protest that he could protect himself had died the moment he looked into Natka’s wide, fearful eyes and Yasha’s pleading face. Grumbling, Tony had accepted their reasoning, which only fueled his resentment towards the people who had hurt, scared, and scarred his siblings so badly. 

Plans for him to be sent away to school had been the second awful piece of news that week, and now he had one evening left before he was shipped away like so much baggage. Peggy and Obadiah had already said their farewells, and the less he saw of his father, the better for both of them.

He turned around to keep pacing, then collided with a muscular hip, his face hitting Yasha’s lower stomach. “Ouch.”

Despite how comfortable they could be to sleep on (Tony had spent many nights sprawled on Yasha’s chest, sleeping next to Natasha), muscles as hard as his brother’s were not nice to run into. Tony rubbed his slightly throbbing nose and looked up, his eyes meeting Yasha’s. “What?”

A soft smile played around his lips before he bowed, pressing a kiss to Tony’s head and then hugging him tightly. “Gonna miss ya, brother. As soon as I find a way, I’m gonna be over and keep a lookout at that school. So you don’t get into any trouble.”

Tony felt a flush creeping over his face, and knew he should feel embarrassed by a grownup trying to comfort him. He didn’t need that, he was a Stark after all. But in that moment with his big brother’s arms around him, he felt nothing but reassurance and hope. When Nat shoved herself to his side as well, having grown a fair bit and now standing taller than him, Tony felt something settle inside him. A shy glance over Yasha’s shoulder showed the Jarvises looking on, with proud and somewhat yearning expressions on their faces. In that moment Tony knew, despite his apprehension about going away for school, he always had a home, and a family, to come back to.


	21. The Asset's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite all precautions, Bucky’s prediction comes true. Tony isn’t safe away from them. When all is said, all work distributed, and Bucky and Natasha are forbidden to go after their own, something shifts and bends until it snaps and an old mindset resurfaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... brace yourselves?

_September 1983_

The next morning, Anthony Edward Stark boarded one of Howard’s private planes with Obadiah Stane, and was seen off by his family. 

But he never made it to the school. 

The same day, late in the evening, Howard’s home office phone rang. The ringing kept going for a while until the device fell silent, just like the man who had drunk himself into a stupor and sat slumped over some documents for SI that were strewn across his desk.

The fact that the child was missing would probably not have been discovered as fast as it was, if Jarvis hadn’t called the school the next evening to ask how his charge had settled in. The answer had the phone slipping out of Jarvis’ hand, Ana looking in concern towards her husband and only catching the tail end of the conversation on the other side of the line. “...repeat myself, but he never got here. Hello? Are you still there?”

Choking on her words, Ana answered, “Y-yes. Excuse me, sir, but did you just say our little Tony didn’t arrive?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what I said. We called last night and this morning, but no one answered. We assumed that you had mistaken the date?”

“No,” Ana breathed, feeling as if she would suffocate. “We saw him off. He should be there…”

“Oh. Damn, I guess you should inform the police. The son of Howard Stark is a target, you know. It was one of the concerns we addressed when Mr. Stark contacted us about having Anthony come here.”

Ana couldn't help the biting tone in her voice when she snapped, “Well, thank you. And you should probably make sure that the rest of the children actually got to your school! Good day!”

She smashed the phone down and heaved a breath. The next thing she, Edwin’s arms were circling her, and he was telling her to take deep breaths. She only then realized the wet streaks on her cheeks and the way she was trembling. 

As soon as the Jarvises were composed enough to manage it, they sprang into action. Edwin informed Mr. Stark and Mrs. Carter-Sousa, while Ana called the secure number for Bucky. Not an hour later, all of them were gathered in Mr. Stark’s office, shock and panic on all their faces.

* * *

Tony had no idea how it happened. He could remember boarding the plane, and Uncle Obie helping him get settled in his own seat. Obie had been making jokes to cheer him up, acting as if Tony were already a grown up, even pouring some apple juice into one of the crystal tumblers that he and Howard drank their scotch from. 

They had toasted, Uncle Obie said, “Here’s to you, m’boy. You’ve been far more useful than anyone will ever know.”

Tony had been miserable at having to leave home, but he felt a little better at those words. He liked being useful, and he liked that Uncle Obie clinked his glass to Tony’s and winked at him.

After that… Tony remembered getting sleepy. He started to lose his sense of direction, time, and coordination, Uncle Obie going fuzzy, his deep voice echoing strangely, and then nothing. 

When Tony woke again, he was somewhere damp and cold. It was pitch black, and he would have thought he had a blindfold on, if not for the missing weight over his eyes.

Closing his temporarily useless eyes, Tony honed in on his other senses like Natka had taught him to. He could feel the surface of the rough chair he was bound to, his hands cuffed to it tightly. Clearly whoever had taken him was not taking any chances, not underestimating him like normal adults would. _Probably an organized crime group_ , Tony thought to himself. There was no sound other than a quiet dripping in the far right corner, the sound approximately eight feet away. _Assuming that I’m sitting in the middle, that would make the room roughly eighteen feet, taking into consideration the width of the chair._

Tony continued to map out the room with what information he could gather through his senses of smell, hearing, and touch. He didn’t know exactly how long he had been out, but he was really hungry and needed to use the bathroom and he felt sore from sitting how he was, so he estimated it had been about six hours. If he was right, that meant that by now the school should realize he was missing. Give another two hours in case of flight delays, and the average responsible adult should be calling home to ask about him soon. 

While the young boy sat silent in the darkness, that was the only thought keeping him from freaking out. In the past, it would still have been reason enough for him to panic. After all, his father seldom cared beyond what he could do for the company. But knowing Jarvis, Ana, and, more importantly, his siblings were around, helped immensely. If there were one person who had not only the ability, but also the desire to get Tony out of this, it was his big brother.

And heaven help whoever stood between Yasha and keeping Tony and Natasha safe.

* * *

Natasha had been watching closely, ever since she and Yasha had come back to the mansion. When Ana had called them, Natasha had instantly known something was wrong, so very wrong. Her voice that was always so kind and sweet and full of humor had been stiff with worry and rough with fear, and Natasha had handed the phone over to her brother in a dense silence.

She had seen the way he had changed. The set of his shoulders, his posture, the way he stood and walked. She hadn’t seen him like that in a long time, since before they had befriended Tony. It had happened in a moment, the long-buried Asset surging back to the surface, threatening to take over Yasha’s mind. He had been fighting it ever since he hung up the phone, and Natasha had been watching as they met with the Jarvises, Peggy, and Howard. The twitches and tells, the way his eyes would go blank. It was taking everything in him to keep the Asset at bay.

“We’ll find them.” Peggy promised in a voice like steel as she stood to leave. “We’ll get them back. We’ll use every resource at our disposal and we’ll get them back.”

“Start with the plane.” Howard said dully, not meeting her eyes. “It never landed. It’s the last place they were.”

“I will, and I’ll keep you informed.” Her high heels clacked on the floor as she left unescorted. Jarvis usually would have walked her out, but the old man had been in a deep state of shock ever since receiving the news. He sat with Ana on the small couch against the wall, holding her hands and staring blankly at the floor.

Yasha didn’t say a word. He just got to his feet and left the room, not looking at anyone. Natasha followed him, staying close on his heels, knowing how close he was to breaking.

Instead of heading for the front door, Yasha turned the other way and stalked up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He didn’t pause at the top, just continued down the corridor, and Natasha knew where he was going.

He didn’t stop until he reached Tony’s room. He stood in front of the door, his chest heaving, though not from exertion. He reached for the doorknob, as if to open the door, but then he stopped. His hand dropped. And his face turned into an expressionless mask.

Natasha had brought him to his knees before they could blink, and her hands clapped to the sides of his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Yasha, no. Don’t do this. Come back. You can’t lose yourself like this, not now.”

“New mission. Find Anthony Stark.”

“ _Nyet_. Not yet. Yasha, not yet. We must give Peggy a chance. We must.”

“Mission is highest priority.”

“ _Yasha_. No.”

“Find the target. Retrieve at all costs.”

Natasha hit him across the face, hard and with desperation. She couldn’t lose him to the Asset. Not Yasha too. If she lost her big brother, she’d be alone, and she couldn’t face the idea of being alone. She’d already lost her _kotenok_ , she couldn’t lose her big brother as well. 

“Yasha, come back! Don’t leave me like this! We will find him. We will. If Peggy can’t do it, we will. But not yet. We have no resources, no supplies, no idea where he is or who took him. We need to gather intel. I can’t do that alone. I need you.” She let her voice break at the last sentence, though she wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or not. She couldn’t think enough right now, she didn’t have control over herself.

“Please, Yasha,” She whispered, pressing her forehead to his and closing her eyes. “Please. For me. For Tony.”

It happened slowly. First there was a trembling in his breath, just a small thing, and then his shoulders dropped. Then he was shaking, falling to pieces in her hands, and Natasha just wrapped her arms around him and held on.

“It’s my fault.” Yasha whispered after several long minutes, his voice barely audible as he hid his face in her hair. “It’s my fault. I should have stopped him.”

“It’s _not_ your fault.”

“I should have killed him then. I should have sliced his throat open with his own broken glass, left him bleeding on the floor. You were right, Natka. We could have run away. We could have taken Tony and run away, we could have disappeared somewhere. It’s my fault.”

Natasha could feel hot tears leaking down her cheeks, but she ignored them. “This is not helping. This will not bring him back. I need you to focus, Yasha, to be here with me.”

“Why didn’t I listen to you?”

Realizing that she couldn’t reach him now, Natasha tugged her big brother to his feet, and held his hand tight in hers. He followed her lead as meek as a lamb, letting her take them through the house and out to the car. He drove where she told him, taking them to their new apartment, and then sat on the couch and stared into space.

Natasha couldn’t sit, she couldn’t settle, her mind was whirling with plans and lists and ideas and what they had to do. If Peggy couldn’t find him, she had to be ready. She had to make sure they were prepared. 

There was a dark space inside Natasha, a place that she kept buried deep within herself. It was where she kept the Red Room, the memories that gave her nightmares, the lessons she had learned and never been able to forget.

Yasha had the same thing too, a place where he kept the Asset. It had all come out today, tearing back into his mind when they knew Antoshka was in danger. They would need it later. They would need the Asset, but only when Yasha could control it.

For now, Natasha brought out the Widow. She needed it now. She needed to be that person again. Tony needed them, so she would make sure they were ready.

Turning around, Natasha opened her mouth to ask Yasha a question, but instead, she sharply inhaled in horror.

Yasha wasn’t there.


	22. Myths Are Only Truths Believed To Be Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding capable employees these days is hard. Stane often wonders what the criteria for criminal goons might be. 
> 
> Bucky, no, Yasha. Asset? Whoever he is, he promises Howard Stark something, and Natasha (or is she the Widow now? Natalia?) is done waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last we've reached the chapter that fills my last TSB square! It's been finished for weeks, and now I finally get to post it! So for rebelmeg's TSB square R1 - myths and legends

Obadiah looked around at the dark, filthy room that the Hydra agents had led him to, taking in every detail from the single chair in the middle of the space, to the old, rusted chains hanging from the damp walls.

“This will do nicely,” He said, going forward and taking a seat on the chair, inwardly grimacing at the thought of his expensive suit touching the dirty surface. 

The agents were quick to bind him to the chair, making the ropes tighter at his urging, though they exchanged nervous looks with one another when the rough fibers started biting uncomfortably into his skin. They stood back, waiting for orders, and Obadiah smiled grimly.

“We have to make it look convincing. Hit me.”

They didn’t move, and Obadiah could sense both their reluctance and the fear that powered it. They knew who he was. They knew the power he held. They didn’t want to lay a hand on the man that was so deeply entrenched in both the leadership of Hydra, and the weapons company that unknowingly armed them.

“Nobody is going to believe that I let my _precious_ godson go without a fight. So hit me. I need to bleed for this. It has to be convincing.”

Still, neither of the agents moved.

Obadiah sighed with irritation. “I won’t tell you again. Get out your guns and put bruises on my face or I’ll make sure neither of you need to take an order ever again.”

His threat had the desired effect, and though the agent moved slowly, he did move. Taking a handgun out of his holster, he stood at Obadiah’s side for a long moment, then drew back his arm and hit Obadiah across the face with the butt of the gun.

Obadiah felt the blood ooze up and run down his cheek, his head ringing. “Good. Again.”

Another pause, then another blow, in a slightly different spot. No blood this time, but there would be a mark, and a bruise.

“One more. Other side. Make it count, then get out of here.”

The agent switched sides, his hand clenched tightly around the grip of the gun, and this time Obadiah felt his lip split as the blow came.

Again, his vision swam, but this time Obadiah didn’t fight it. He allowed himself to fall into the black of unconsciousness, and as he did, he smiled.

Things were going perfectly according to plan.

* * *

Stark hadn’t moved. He was in the same spot he’d been in when Bucky (Yasha?) and Natasha had left before, sitting at his desk, a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked up when Bucky came in, but he didn’t say a word.

“I told you,” Yasha (or was he Bucky?) seethed, glaring at Howard with so much hatred he could practically feel the heat. “I told you he would not be safe.”

“There was no way to know something like this would happen. Hell, Obie was with him!” the man argued, his eyes bloodshot from drinking, his words slurring.

“Like hell there wasn’t!” Bucky roared, storming forward and slamming his fist down on Stark's desk. “And now he’s gone!”

“I know that!” Stark snapped, “Don’t you think I’m doing everything I can to find him?! Jarvis and Ana are distraught, Peggy is doing everything she can, I’m throwing money at anyone who might help—”

“It’s not enough!”

“I don’t know what else to do!” For the first time, a flicker of emotion was visible on Stark's lined face, fear and worry, though Bucky knew it wasn’t for his own safety. He was finally showing concern for his son.

It was too little, too late.

Yasha put his hands flat on the polished surface of the desk, and leaned forward so close that he could smell the foul stench of alcohol on Stark's breath.

“If he dies,” Bucky murmured, his voice only loud enough for the two of them to hear, “I will murder you in your bed and paint the walls with your blood.”

Stark turned gray with fear, but Yashadidn’t stay to appreciate the effect his words had. Shoving away from the desk, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the office.

* * *

A week passed. A long, excruciating, hellish week that seemed as if it would never end. Every second had been torture, the minutes passing with agonizing slowness, the days turning over with a kind of finality that made sleep nearly impossible. 

There had been no word about Tony. None. Even after Obadiah Stane had been found, bound and beaten in an abandoned basement near where the plane had been landed, Tony still hadn't been found. There was no sign of him.

The Asset—Buck—Yash—... _He_ was worried. Beyond worried. He’d been in a state of constant panic and looming dread all week, so much so that he couldn’t seem to draw breath.

And it wasn’t just because of Tony, though his concern and terror for the innocent boy he loved so much was suffocating.

It was also Natasha. It had started even before he had come back to himself, before he’d managed to get control of the Asset in his mind again, and gone to see Stark. He had seen it when he’d finally been able to look out from his own eyes and see his little sister, those lovely green eyes of hers begging him to come back to her.

He had never seen her so torn apart inside. Not even that day, so long ago, when she'd laid huddled at his feet, anticipating her own death at his hands in the Red Room.

And then, once that had faded, when he’d returned home from putting fear into Howard Stark, Natasha had been fading away.

It was in the set of her shoulders, the smooth blankness coming over her features, the way her movements were ever so slightly more fluid.

She was turning into the Widow again. She was unearthing those parts of herself that she had buried, bringing them out and drawing them around her like armor that would fuse to her skin. What if, after all this was over (if it ever was over), she couldn’t take it back off again? What if she lost herself in the Widow the same way he nearly lost himself to the Asset?

He was only able to lay aside his burden of fear and worry and choking heartache when the time came for them to leave. 

It had been a week, seven full days of waiting, worrying, preparing, of looking at the phone with combined terror and hope every time it rang. It was never good news.

They had found Stane. But not Tony. Still not Tony. 

So on the eighth day, the eighth day since their _kotenok_ had been taken from them, he allowed the Asset to come forward in his mind. And when Natka came out of her room, dressed in the tactical gear she had chosen for herself, it was clear that the Widow was at the forefront of her mind as well. Not yet ten years old, but the girl carried herself like an adult, moved like the assassin she had been trained to become. The eyes that had in recent years been allowed to twinkle with humor or glow with happiness now were sharp with focus, and utterly empty of emotion.

He couldn't help but wonder, distantly, if his eyes were the same.

They looked at each other, one long moment in the gray predawn light, and the years between the present and the Red Room and Hydra vanished.

And the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow set out to find their brother.


	23. Losing Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're always so close, just barely too late every time. Yasha doesn't know how much longer they can keep this up.

They were always one step ahead. Always, always one step ahead, and no matter how fast Yasha and Natalia went, it was never fast enough. Every time they found a new location, followed the trail of clues to the next place, Tony and his captors were already gone.

It had been three weeks, and Yasha couldn’t remember ever in that whole time sleeping for more than an hour at a time. Natalia hadn’t either, they took brief rest when they had to, then pushed on. Desperation was driving them, and panic, and if they stopped for even a moment, the looming grief would catch them.

The chances that Antoshka was still alive… they weren’t even worth mentioning. The little sleep Yasha got was plagued with horrific nightmares, and in every single one of them, Tony was already dead. Unless whoever had taken him (and Yasha had no doubt in his mind as to who it was) had found some use for Tony, he was already dead. The grief was enough to swallow him whole.

They’d found signs of Tony, the first week. A filthy, discarded shirt, the one Tony had been wearing when he boarded the plane to go to school. The unmistakable scent of him, unwashed but still Tony, on some thin, dirty bedding at the next place. And at the next… droplets of blood, and little red finger-smudges on the floor.

Natalia hadn’t even blinked. Yasha had heaved, and run from the room to throw up. Natalia had still been there when he came back, staring down at those bloody smears, precisely the size of Tony’s hand.

There had been a few dark brown hairs at the next place, but it was impossible to tell if they were Tony’s. Yasha had bagged them carefully and sent them to Peggy for testing, but he didn’t have high hopes.

After that, they found nothing. New locations, in all kinds of places, but no further evidence that Tony was still alive. Nothing conclusive.

To be truthful… they had nothing. For at least a week now, Yasha had suspected that they were on a wild goose chase, but there was nothing else for them to do. So they kept going. And going, and going.

Until Ana Jarvis called Natalia.

It had been humorous to observe, years ago when Ana had first decided that Tony’s new sister clearly needed the same kind of love that Tony did. Yasha had actually almost laughed, when Ana had hugged Tony, as she often did, then turned immediately to Natasha and done the same.

Natasha had gone stiff as a board, her green eyes wide with something like panic. But Ana hadn’t even been fazed. She had just smiled that wide, wrinkled, charming smile of hers and winked at Yasha as she passed him, squeezing his shoulder gently.

And then she hadn’t stopped. The same love and affection that she showered freely on Tony, she also showered on Natasha, always with a little for Yasha too. She had all but given them no choice but to accept it, and under Ana’s love and care, Natasha had blossomed. Tony could make her smile, but so could Ana. And then Jarvis too. They were all there when Natka laughed for the first time, perhaps for the first time since she was a baby, when Tony had leaned on the edge of a plate covered in powdered sugar (they had been making cookies) and flipped the white dust all over his face.

Yasha remembered staring at him in shock for a moment, unsure if he should smile or rush to Tony’s aid, but then he’d heard a strangled sort of sound. He’d stared at Natasha, seen the way she covered her mouth, but there was no hiding the giggle that slipped out. Tony had blinked, powdered sugar falling from his eyelashes, and said in a slightly bewildered voice, “Ana, I think I made a mess.”

Natasha had actually slipped off her chair, she had laughed so hard. It was as if all the joy that the Red Room had stolen from her had finally found her again, and come out all at once. Ana had been laughing too, trying to brush the powdered sugar from Tony’s face, but it just got everywhere. Yasha had carried Tony to the bathroom to be bathed, while Ana and Natasha followed behind them, still laughing as Tony stuck his tongue out at them over Yasha’s shoulder, trying not to grin.

The memory hurt so deeply now that for a moment, Yasha couldn’t breathe.

What if he never got to see Tony’s eyes again, whiskey brown and sparkling with mischief? What if he never got to see Natka’s smile again, wide and soft and sweet?

Natalia said hardly anything as she sat at the edge of the uncomfortable motel bed, holding the phone receiver to her ear. Yasha couldn’t make out all of what Ana said, but he knew she was begging Natalia to come home. Jarvis had already tried, and so had Peggy. Stane even called once, but Yasha (perhaps unfairly) couldn’t stop himself from holding the man responsible. He should have _died fighting_ rather than let anyone take Tony away. Yasha would have, and so would Natalia, and Jarvis and Peggy.

A soft, shuddery sigh drew Yasha’s eye back to his sister, and he saw the way her shoulders twitched, just slightly, loosening the smallest fraction. In defeat.

“ _Yes. We will come home._ ” She murmured in Hungarian, and Yasha could hear in the tone of her voice how much it destroyed her to say it. She said goodbye and hung up the phone, her movements so precise that he knew she was holding herself together only through sheer force of will.

She didn’t say anything to Yasha. She didn’t need to. She just laid down on the bed, curled up in the fetal position, and stared blankly at nothing.

Yasha had paid for a room with two small beds. It had been more than a year since they had slept in the same bed, curled together or back to back, protecting and comforting each other even in sleep. Their apartment even had two whole bedrooms, one for each of them, and they had slowly started filling them with silly things that they liked. A rug, a particular kind of lamp, a certain color of curtains, a picture for the wall. Things that they weren’t allowed to have before Tony, and things they hadn’t needed at the mansion. Things they could choose and keep, just because they liked them and they wanted to.

Tonight, Yasha didn’t say a word. He turned off the lights in the small, dingy room, and without removing his boots, he laid on the other side of Natka’s bed. He pressed his back to hers, feeling the slightest shudder, and willed himself into stillness.

They didn’t sleep. Despite this being the first night in weeks that they could sleep all night… they didn’t sleep.

It hurt too much. The grief.


	24. Asking The Right Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Searching restlessly for a long while and having nearly nothing to show for it has forced Yasha and Natalia to return to Stark Manor permanently. Everyone is losing hope. But Natalia keeps her ears and eyes open. She sees things, and she keeps gaining intel. Perhaps they were focused so completely on Tony's absence that they had forgotten one piece of the puzzle that hadn't yet been explored.

_October 1983_

Over a month had passed since Tony had been taken away, and still they heard nothing. Between bouts of crushing depression and mourning, Natalia was irate with frustration, and Bucky—Natalia spat that name in her mind more often than not—was severely agitated and similarly hostile in his own frustration. When he wasn’t locked inside himself, that was, closed in and staring at nothing while he struggled to find a way to cope with the sense of failure and devastating loss.

Peggy had been by four times, the first time to get all the information Natalia and Bucky had on possible hostiles, and then to report back... It was always easy to see on her face what the news would be. It was never good, and everyone was on edge. They were in a state of limbo, strung high between panic and mourning and hoping, Natalia couldn't help but wonder whether or not this was worse than if they'd just lost him. Their Tony.

Once again she sat on a windowsill, this time in Tony’s room, and stared out through the glass. The more time passed, the worse the already terrible odds got that they might find Antoshka alive. Bucky knew it too. She had seen it in his eyes, the day they came back from their search. He hadn’t given up, but… he had lost his hope.

Natalia didn’t want to think that way. Part of her wanted to stay blissfully unaware of the chance of seeing her little brother again. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, to show such disrespect towards Antoshka. He deserved for her to put all her skills at use to find him. If that entailed being conscious about the likelihood that they might find him breathing, so be it. 

Natalia took a deep breath and sighed, closing her eyes. _I’ll bring you home, brother. I promise. No matter how long it takes. Whether you are alive or not. You will be home._

* * *

Natalia’s thoughts, as they so often were, reflected alike in Yasha’s mind. He sat on the floor in front of Tony’s bed, a grim, blank facade instead of a gentle smile on his face. It was all he could control, because inside himself he was in utter turmoil.

He blamed himself. For all of it. For Tony being sent to boarding school, for his kidnapping, for their failure to find him. Yasha had promised to watch out for Tony. He had reassured the boy he would be alright, that he would like school, and that Yasha would be there a day or two after Tony arrived, to check on him and make sure he was alright. They had made the plan together, for Yasha and Natka to visit Tony, so he would have something to look forward to after those first lonely days. 

Yasha had _promised_ to keep him safe. And he had failed.

Logically, he knew he couldn’t have prevented the kidnapping unless he’d traveled with Tony. Logic didn’t mean anything right now, though. The guilt was his. But damn it, he wanted to find someone, anyone that had something to do with it, and just beat them. Beat them bloody. Beat them lifeless. He knew if he asked Natasha, she would say it was Stark’s fault for sending Tony away, or Stane’s fault for letting him get taken. A big part of Yasha did indeed blame Stark. And yet, there was still that other part that blamed himself, and always would. Despite it feeling smaller, it weighed more. 

Yasha didn’t know if any of the others had realized it yet. The connection. He didn’t want to say the words out loud, for fear his suspicions weren’t just that. 

Because if he was right (he knew he was right), if his fears were confirmed, the kidnappers were not only an organized crime group, but they also knew of Yasha’s or Natasha's connection to Tony. Maybe both. And should that be the case, there could only be two organizations behind this. One was the KGB, wanting their missing Widow replaced. The other… well Yasha hoped and prayed to a god he hadn’t believed in for years, that Tony was not with them. 

Because if Tony had been taken by Hydra… Yasha didn’t know what was worse. If they had snuffed out his life, or kept him alive. Yasha knew, far too intimately, what they did to the ones they kept alive. 

Either way, Yasha was left one glaring fact. Nobody outside of those few people closest to them even knew Natka and Yasha were still alive, much less with Howard Stark.

There had to be a mole. Someone close to them, someone Tony loved… had betrayed him.

* * *

Natalia wasn’t stupid. Contrary to what the men around her seemed to think, she was extremely perceptive and gathered information at an astonishing speed. That ability allowed her to realize that her big brother was hiding something. He knew something, but he wasn’t telling her. She tried to ignore the way that hurt.

It also made her aware of Obadiah Stane’s strange behavior. Normally, Natalia would share her suspicions with Bucky. Normally they would bounce ideas back and forth as to why a certain individual behaved as they did. Normally she would trust Bucky with whatever bothered her.

But not this time. This time, she kept everything close to her chest. This time, she simply gathered information until she could get an idea of the whole picture. What that picture painted wasn’t good. And Natalia wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt like she shouldn’t trust Bucky.

Maybe it was because he still allowed the other to use that ridiculous name, despite hating it himself. She knew he did. He grimaced every time someone said it, and he constantly paused before saying it himself. It wasn’t _his_ name, and “Bucky” knew that. However, he still insisted that she use it, when they were around the others. Natalia couldn't understand that. And things she didn’t understand were suspicious to her, had to be treated with caution.

Although she still loved him dearly, Natalia decided to keep everything to herself, especially her decision to confront the one man who was most likely to have the last missing puzzle piece. Luckily for Natalia, the man in question was just about to leave the mansion that evening, when Stark was still in his workshop. Hastening her steps, she managed to catch up with him.

“Mr. Stane,” she called from the foyer stairs, voice dipped in sweetness and as polite as possible, “do you have a minute, sir?”

Stane hesitated for a moment, something close to anger whispering through his eyes. If Natalia hadn’t already been walking closer, she’d have missed it. With a false, benevolent smile, Stane looked down at her. “What can I help you with, little miss?”

The choice of words alone raised her hackles, not to mention his tone of syrupy condescension. Still, she needed something from him, so she had to stay collected. 

As sweet as she could, she smiled at him and spoke, “I was wondering, sir, if you could spare a bit of time for a delicate matter.”

She was looking for it and therefore didn’t miss it this time. His blue eyes narrowed, something like irritation entering them. “And what, little miss, would that be?”

“Not here, Mr. Stane. The maids and staff can be rather curious, at least that’s what I overheard Mrs. Carter-Sousa say.” Natalia used the wrong title for Peggy on purpose. She had seen and heard the disdain Stane held for the woman, how he hated that she was the Director of a government agency, and more powerful than he was. 

Natalia was aware of what Stark had told Stane about Yasha and her. She knew that Stark underestimated her, and she counted on that while confronting Stane.

After a short pause, Stane’s mask settled into an indulgent one. “I think I can spare a minute or two. Where to, little miss?”

Natalia led the man over to an unused parlor, one that Tony’s mother had favored, entering after Stane so he could feel he had superiority and the upper hand. When the door was closed behind Natalia, he leaned against a table and looked at her, amused, “Well?”

“I was wondering, Mr. Stane... a man of your standing must know far more people than Mr. Stark does. I mean, you are always handling so many business issues, and you are responsible for bringing in new investors as far as I’ve heard. That means the company is… perhaps more yours than his, doesn’t it?”

Stane went rigid for a second only to release a short, breathy, barking kind of laugh after. “Here I was, thinking that only Tony was the smart one. Say, little miss, why are you pointing this out?”

While Stane’s face was open, his voice was cold, his eyes calculating beneath the facade of friendliness. Natalia considered her next move. She could be risking everything. If Stane clammed up completely, she would lose her chance to solve the puzzle as to where her beloved _kotenok_ was. And it might very well be the last chance she got.

Slowly, delicately, she stepped forward, face a blank mask of her own. She had made up her mind, and now it was time to act on it. As blunt as stone, she stated, “I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Stane. I’ve investigated and came across a few… details that shine a worrisome light on the situation. Tony is either with the KGB or Hydra, and I want to know what they want from him. I think you are the one that can get me that information.”

Stane blinked. He stood for a moment and just stared down on her. She could see the cogs in his head turning, trying to determine if she needed to be eliminated or if he should deny it. She didn’t count on him telling her the truth, not quite yet, not without getting into contact with whoever he knew. Without further comment, she turned around and left the room.

He would need time to think. And as for herself… Well, she needed time to plan.


	25. A Spider’s Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Precious time Natalia doesn't have is passing, and while Yasha isn’t the brother she needs right now, she isn’t willing to risk losing him too. Even though… 
> 
> _Nyet. She thought to herself, trying not to lose herself to despair, I’ve lost him already. There is only one thing I can do now…_

It had been five days since Natalia had spoken to Stane, but he hadn’t been by the mansion much. Every time he was around, he was either with Stark or Natalia wasn’t alone to speak with him. The situation frustrated her deeply. She had taken to wandering the halls, having told Yasha to rest, knowing full well that he was tailing her. Natalia wanted to get Stane alone, and for that, she needed a plan. 

While she wandered around, she couldn’t seem to help herself, and she remembered the happy days. Her feet carried her to the music room without conscious thought. A trembling hand reached for the door handle but she couldn’t bring herself to enter.

The room had been her _kotenok_ ’s since the very first day they had finally met. The piano behind those heavy doors was Antoshka’s safe haven. It felt like intruding on his space, to be there without him. Natalia’s hand fell limply to her side, refusing to open the door. A tired and sad smile crossed her face and she felt like crying. She wished that Yasha would come out of hiding. She wanted him to hug her and tell her that they would find their Tony. She needed him to. 

The faintest of footsteps and then a hovering heat just behind her made her aware of the soldier’s closeness. She desperately wished for him to just hold her, tell her everything would be okay. She wanted him to lie to her. She needed him to be _there_ for her. 

Yet, he hesitated. Yasha didn’t touch her. He didn’t hug her. He just stood there. Silent, hovering. Long enough for Natalia to take shuddering breaths and compose herself again. This, more than anything else, made her aware how utterly lost Yasha was. Never before had he not been able to protect, to hold her. This moment made it clear to her, if she didn’t bring Tony back, she would lose Yasha forever, too.

 _Nyet_. She thought, trying not to lose herself to despair, _I’ve lost him already. There is only one thing I can do now…_

Well, at least she had a plan.

* * *

At last, after days of waiting, Natalia found her opening and was able to corner Stane. She saw him coming up the driveway as she passed the windows at the front of the house, and waited outside the front door, blocking his way.

“So?” She prompted as he approached, knowing that he didn’t need a reminder of what she’d demanded to know.

He just smirked at her, his hands in his pockets as he came closer. “I guess this is on me. I didn’t take them seriously, with their warning about the smart, talented agent-in-training. I must concede, I have been arrogant.” His smirk was still there, but his eyes were cold. “Who have you told? Because I can’t figure it out. The Jarvises are treating me with the same amount of displeasure as always, the old fools. Howard, that idiot, still trusts me fully. Hell, that Carter woman still behaves the same around me.” 

Natalia liked that Stane got straight to business. Apparently he didn’t see any reason to sugar coat anything around her anymore.

 _Good,_ she thought, _perhaps we can actually accomplish something here._ She had to admit… it was nice to be taken seriously after so long of being looked at as nothing more than a little girl.

“That would be because I told no one.”

Stane laughed at that. The laugh sounded horrendous and cruel, just like his next words, “And I’m supposed to believe a little Widow bitch?”

Although she should probably feel insulted, Natalia kept her face stoic. As honest as she could she answered, “ _Nyet_. But if I’d told someone, they’d already be onto you.”

Stane seemed to take that into consideration if his slightly tilted head and set jaw were any indication. A few seconds passed before he huffed, and said, “Fine. You wanted to know what they want? I happen to know that.”

“What do you want in exchange for that information?” Because nothing ever was free. Natalia had learned that early, and sadly had forgotten the lesson for a while. 

As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t dwell on those thoughts. Natalia managed to collect herself just in time for Stane’s answer, “I want what they will give me if they get what they want. Which actually means I’m willing to part with the information at no extra charge.”

That didn’t sound too good. It was either something Natalia was capable of providing, or something Stane was more than certain about. “Then please continue, Mr. Stane. I’m all ears.”

“They want both, their puppet and their insect.” 

Yasha and herself. The Asset and the Widow.

That wouldn't do. She couldn’t—she _wouldn’t_ — “ _Nyet_. Not negotiable. There must be something else.”

He looked at her and Natalia felt as if she had lost this game. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute, hoping to find a solution. She couldn’t fail. She just _couldn’t_.

When his facade turned into a cruel smile, she knew whatever Stane had in mind was bad.

“There might be a way, itsy-bitsy spider.”

* * *

_November 1983_

He made it a game. The sadistic bastard turned it into a _game_ , and Natalia had been so infuriated that it had taken nearly all of her training to force herself to put aside her anger and focus.

Twenty-four hours, Stane had said. If Natalia managed to get to the location where her brother was being held, and free Tony and bring him home in that amount of time, they wouldn’t come for them. Stane had given her a coded map and an approximate estimate of how many cells there were in the prison compound, and that all while the timer had already started. Natalia moved as fast as possible, decoding the map and then figuring out how to get herself from New York to northern Quebec by herself. Adults were such meddlers, they’d interfere if they knew she traveled alone. So she had to be very careful about it, make sure to out of sight as she the eighteen hour trip by various modes of transportation.

The little Widow had one eye on the map and another on the direction she was taking as she left the Stark mansion, going around to the back entrance so she wouldn’t be seen. Before she left the grounds, she turned around one last time. Natalia took in the grandeur, the sun reflecting on the big windows, the marble pillars and stairs. Her gaze sought out the window of Tony’s room. 

“I promise, kitten. I’ll bring you home.”

She left unseen.


	26. Painting the Ground Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalia spends precious time trying to find the location her brother is being held. Finally, she holds him in her arms once more. She knows time is running out, but they will make it. They will.

Hours, precious hours, passed before Natalia managed to get close enough to the base. The coded map had been easy enough for her. Getting there without alerting people of a child wandering around alone was a different issue. 

She hadn’t realized until now how many times she had been saved the annoyance of strangers asking where her responsible adult was, while she had been with Ya— 

_Nyet_. She silenced her own thoughts harshly. _You can’t afford to think about him. Hopefully he won’t find the letter… Hopefully there won’t be a need for the letter._

Now being so close to her goal, if she could trust Stane on this, Natalia felt a strange tingling under her skin. She hadn’t felt it often enough before to clearly identify it, but the closet she could think of it was anticipation and giddiness. A tentative flower of hope had started to bloom in her chest the moment she had talked to Stane. The way he had referred to Tony implied that her brother was still alive.

After awhile staking out the base, Natalia found a way in. Vents. How villains never thought of those was beyond her. But, according to Yasha, most everyone didn’t take vents into consideration for their safe places. _Fools, all of them_ , she thought while crawling her way through the vent system, making her way towards the place Tony was being kept.

At one point, she had to stop, not able to risk even the smallest noises as a group of her enemy passed beneath her. She listened closely, however, not wanting to miss any hints they might unknowingly let slip.

“He cried like a baby last time,” One of the men jeered, “the son of the great Howard Stark, blubbering at being smacked around a little.”

“You expected something different?” Another asked with a snort, their voices fading as they kept walking. “I’m surprised he’s lasted this long.”

Listening to the boisterous, disrespectful conversation between the enemy made Natalia wish she had brought more than a few knives with her. As it was, she felt hot burning rage lick away at the giddiness and replaced all traces of anticipation.

Those… _people_ , that _scum_ , were talking about Tony as if he were a toy to abuse for their amusement. She hated them, and wished she had the time to make them bleed for their words. Perhaps, once she got her little brother free, she would come back and exact revenge. An ounce of blood for every cruel word.

Soon enough Natalia found her way to the cell block, and slipped from the vents to make her way down the dark hallway. Heavy metal doors were equipped with small flaps for food, she assumed. Staying as close to the wall as she could, she tried to listen for any signs of—

_There!_ At the sound of a soft, weak cough Natalia’s eyes widened and her body tensed, as tight as a snake ready to strike. She stilled all her movements, minimized every sound and focused on the coughing, which repeated itself three more times before all fell eerily silent again. 

She didn’t waste any more time. She hurried in the direction of the coughing, locating the cell and using the tools she had brought to pick the lock on the outside. The cell’s metal door was heavy, too heavy for someone to open if they were injured, and Natalia barely managed to pull the door open, being so small and slight herself. When she rounded the opened door to get a better look inside the cell, everything seemed to freeze.

There in front of her was Antoshka. Her wonderful, lovely, innocent Antoshka. The boy who gifted her with music, and ballet, and who learned alongside her how to be a child. The boy, whose eyes shone with love and trust whenever he looked at her and Yasha.

Trust they betrayed in failing to protect him.

Another far weaker cough snapped her out of the dream-like state. In less than a second, Natalia knelt next to the dirty, bleeding, far-too-skinny boy. Voice gentle despite her inner turmoil she spoke, “Antoshka? Can you hear me, _kotenok_?”

At first no response came and Natalia feared the worst. But then her Antoshka turned his head slightly, eyes bleary, cheeks colored by bruises and fever, lips split, nose sluggishly bleeding. She didn’t even dare to assess anymore of the damage than what was clear to the eye.

Yasha had made sure to give her a rudimentary knowledge of human medical care, but this was beyond what she could do. She, for the first time in a long while, felt like a scared child.

“Natka?”

Tony’s voice was so weak, so fragile. Like a glass figurine, bound to break if you didn’t handle it with the utmost care. “Yes, it’s me Antoshka.”

His smile was faint as he looked at her, blinking slow with the one eyelid that wasn’t swollen nearly shut. “Nice. Last time it was Jarvis.”

“Last time?” Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she reached out to very carefully run her fingers through his dirty, almost matted hair..

Tony leaned into her touch, sighing. “Hmmm… Hallu… halluci… imagining… when the brain is tired. It’s nice having you…”

Dread filled her. If her Antoshka was hallucinating, and regularly, that meant that he had less time than she had thought. She could only pray that if she failed, Yasha would get here in time.

“Can you stand, Antoshka?”

“ _Nyet, sestra_.” Exerting what looked like a lot of effort, Tony shifted his injured body enough that he could lay his head in her lap. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Natka.”

Natalia felt like crying. She wanted nothing more than for her brother to sound not so broken, not so hurt, not so… like he had given up. Doing what she knew had always reached him, she started to hum their lullaby, eventually singing the words when her voice felt more steady.

Finally, as she sang, Antoshka seemed to snap out of his feverish state enough to realize she was really with him. 

“Natka?” His voice was full of wonder and hope, one grimy hand coming up to clutch at her shirt. “You’re… really here?” 

Natalia hugged him carefully, mindful of what injuries probably hid under his filthy clothes. “I’m really here, Antoshka. I’m here for you. Can you walk?”

He looked uncertain, but nodded firmly, determinedly. “Can you help me?”

She nodded quick and got them both to their feet, supporting her dearest friend and brother with all her strength. They needed to get out, time was slipping through her fingers like quicksand. Natalia eased them to the doorway and scanned her surroundings and murmured as tenderly as she could, “Hold tight, _kotenok_ , I need you to be strong now.”

The delirious boy again coughed weakly, but strengthened his hold on Natalia’s shoulder as much as he could. That was all the affirmation Nat needed. It also was more than enough fuel for the fire of rage burning inside her. In the depths of her mind she swore, she would rip every single man and woman apart for what they did to her Antoshka.

* * *

Natalia had managed to get them both out of the base, and as they stumbled across the ground she could see the border of the compound. She knew, if she managed to get there, if she and Tony could make it, their pursuers would have to give up. She could feel her brother's cold fingers starting to slip, all strength leaving him faster than she’d like. “Just a little bit more Antoshka, just a tiny bit. You can do that. I know you can. For me.”

Another weak sound left him, something like a choked and disbelieving laugh, and together they continued their ungainly escape. With every step they took, Tony’s body shuddered in pain, and it kept getting worse. Yet her brave, strong, lovely Antoshka pushed forward. Natalia felt pride and sorrow, rage and hatred well up inside her. But once again she bottled it all. She was on a mission with a time limit, and feelings had no place now.

It happened so quickly, Natalia didn’t even see it. Out of nowhere, numerous men and women in tactical uniforms materialized stood in their way, armed though they didn’t have their weapons in their hands. They had appeared so suddenly that she had to stop abruptly to avoid running into them, the jolting causing Tony to yelp in pain. Despite her desire to protect him, to not have her brother suffer any further, she knew she had to react fast. Snarling at the assembled enemy, she shoved Tony behind herself, drawing a knife from her boot. “I was promised twenty-four hours! They aren’t over!”

The goons didn’t outright attack, something which confused the little Widow greatly. They just stood there, a solid wall standing between her and Tony, and the freedom beyond the compound. If she had been in their place, she would have eliminated the threat immediately. Why did they just stand there, looking at her?

Then it clicked. They weren’t attacking because they were playing on time, time she was quickly running out of. And she had fallen for their distraction, wasting precious seconds. Now, time ran as thin as possible, and her only chance was to attack, leaving her brother unprotected.

Gritting her teeth, Natalia lunged forward, slashing and hacking away at the humans she managed to reach. They met her as she came, one or two coming forward, taking their turn, and it was evident that they had expected little fight from her. She proved them wrong with every slice of the knives in her hands, and the others she had hidden on her person, throw into the eye socket or throat of advancing foes. After every few attacks, she bounced back to her brother, trying to check on him; to get them somewhere more protected. 

She had been trained by the Winter Soldier. 

She was the only Widow who had never completed the Program, but had still been seen as a success before she defected.

And yet, with all her skill, and the rage bubbling up in her chest, it was futile. Natalia was severely outnumbered, and now that there were more than a dozen bodies strewn about around her, the rest of them weren't being so cavalier. They fought her hard, not underestimating her anymore, forcing her to draw back. With her brother's welfare in the crossfire, Natalia couldn’t— she _wouldn’t_ — fight as she had been trained to, solely for herself, and leave Tony unprotected. The result was both crushing and satisfying. Seeing the bloodstains on the ground, the chaos she wreaked, gave her a feeling resembling accomplishment. But she also saw the way they were starting to close in around her, walking over the bodies of their fallen comrades, trying to box her in. 

In a last ditch effort to get them over the border, Natalia gripped Tony tightly, fingers brushing over the subtle tracker she had attached the moment she had found him. Hoisting him up with every last bit of her strength, she tried to scramble towards the line which would mean safety. But…

Stane stepped in her way with more goons. “Impressive,” his slimy voice echoed over the battlefield, giving the man a larger presence than he deserved. “Maybe you’ll make a better replacement than little Tony could ever be. What do you think, gentlemen, shouldn’t you keep her? Training her to be the better Winter Soldier?”

Other men in suits stepped beside Stane, disgust at the blood pooled at their feet visible on their faces. Natalia felt like she knew one of them, and had seen the other once or twice on the television.

“You think, Mr. Stane? We would have to get the serum right again…” The man Natalia thought she recognized was an American, blond, and held himself like a politician or a lawyer.

The second suit, the one with the round eyeglasses, answered with a German accent, “This should be no trouble. We already have some in the early stages.” 

They never said their names, but Natalia absorbed every other bit of information. She should probably fear what was going to happen, the horrific things they implied, but her mind was too focused on her little brother's uneven breathing.

In the end, she didn’t let them take her and Tony back without more bloodshed. And when they were finally separated, when Natalia was taken away to the sound of Tony weakly calling for her, she still fought until the very last second, when all the world finally fell black and silent around her.


	27. Natalia's Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter merges a broken soul. He's not quite Yasha, and not quite Barnes, and not really the Asset either. And yet he's more whole than he's been for so long.
> 
> Is that enough to save his siblings?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This crosses out a bingo square for Meg! BBB square B4 - image of Bucky throwing a paper away
> 
> Title: The Name You Gave Me - Chapter 27: Natalia's Lullaby  
> Collaborator: fightingforcreativity & rebelmeg  
> Square Filled: for rebelmeg, B4 - image of Bucky throwing a paper away  
> Ship: Bucky & Natasha & Tony  
> Rating: Mature  
> Major Tags: child abuse, kidnapping, violence, implied/referenced torture, Hydra, angst  
> Summary: A letter merges a broken soul. He's not quite Yasha, and not quite Barnes, and not really the Asset either. And yet he's more whole than he's been for so long. Is that enough to save his siblings?  
> Word Count: 44,107

Bucky had been on edge all day. Ever since the moment he had failed to comfort little sister the day before, this feeling of dread wouldn’t leave him. The scene from yesterday— Natalia’s slightly trembling shoulders, and him just standing behind her, not quite touching, not soothing her tears—has replayed itself plenty of times in his mind’s eye. Needless to say that he couldn’t sleep. He had wandered the halls long after that moment with Natka, and he had been sure that upon his return, he would find her in Tony’s bed. But he hadn’t. 

She wasn’t in Tony’s room, or bathroom, or their old shared rooms. She wasn’t even in the music room and Jarvis hadn’t seen her either. With panic in his heart, Bucky raced through the mansion searching for little clues, things that were out of place. At last, he ended up in Tony’s room again, his breathing erratic, trying to tell himself that she was just hiding. Natalia just needed space, needed time. She would come out when she was ready. 

With a weight so heavy that he felt like Atlas holding the world, he let himself fall on Tony’s bed. The soft mattress bounced under his weight, and with it the pillows.

A soft rustling sound alerted Yasha to the paper that got displaced by his movement. Confused, he propped himself up and reached for the paper. 

The piece of paper was neatly folded, with a faint but well-known scent on it. Unfolding it, his nose and eyes come to the same realization. The note was from Natalia. Her scent, her penmanship, the way it was placed to ensure only him or the Jarvises would find it. All was Natalia’s.

Shaking, he sat up again and read the note in its entirety, carefully formed Cyrillic letters spelling out a terrible truth.

_Yasha, if you read this I failed. I failed to bring our brother home. But if you see this, there is a chance you can bring him home. Follow the signal and help him. Be aware that Hydra has our brother. Keep your eyes open, and do not trust. There are not many you can trust._

_Yours, Natka_

The first emotion he felt was fear. The second was agony. The third thing was a numbness he vaguely recalled from being the Asset. Something merged within him, and he realized that he was seeing, hearing, feeling everything through a veil, the veil of the Asset. Yet, he wasn’t completely the Asset. He still knew himself, still knew being Yasha, and new old memories he had thought had been lost, memories of his little sister Rebecca Barnes, choked and flooded him.

With the precision of the Asset he found the tracking device Natka had left for him, his heart clenching at the thought that she had prepared to not come back. With the tracker in one hand, he looked at the slip of paper in the other, inked with the evidence of both his failures and his sweet, strong sister’s sacrifices. He got up slowly, let the paper fall out of his hand, and left the room. 

With the charm of Barnes, he pretended to be the man everyone knew, smiling to the staff he passed, and with the care of Yasha he endured and waited for the moment to slip away. He had packed a bag. The bag held various weapons, first aid materials, knives and cash he nicked from Stark.

The first opportunity he could find, he was out of the mansion with the stealth of the Asset, following the single, valuable bread crumb Natalia left him.

* * *

With the Asset’s abilities and the casual nature of Bucky, he managed to get to the prison compound faster than he’d thought could be possible. A low snarling sound fell from his lips and he blinked, confused, before he realized that he had been held here once. 

_Hydra._

The thought reverberated through his head and chest.

White hot anger spread inside him, only to be frozen over almost instantly with cold precision and focus. “Mission, save _mladshiy brat_ and _mladshaya sestra_. Eliminate any standing in the way. Mission accepted.”

Infiltrating the base was the easiest of it all. Yash-the Asset knew the layout, knew the secrets within. Getting to the right cell blocks was harder. In the past, Hydra had brought plenty of prisoners here, people no one would miss that fell victim to Hydra’s pursuit of power and knowledge. Many of which the Asset himself had put down in the end when they had been deemed too dangerous for Hydra to keep.

Finally he found his target, smelled him from three corridors away. Agile and fast he crept to Antoshka. The guards were easily killed and the metal door stood no chance against him either, not with the arm Hydra had wired into his body. What he found had his breath stopping as his heart clenched. The boy laid face-down in a suspicious smelling puddle, clothes dirty and torn. The stench of blood and other things, bad things, penetrated the Asset’s nose. Despite his years away from Hydra, he didn’t flinch at any of it. With sure steps did he closed the distance between himself and the unconscious boy. Antoshka’s heart beat a faint _thump thump_ in the otherwise still room.

James-Yash-As- _he_ knelt next to Antoshka, picking up the child with gentleness and holding him firmly against his chest. 

The change in position jolted the boy awake. “No. Please, no, don't…"

Hearing the faint, desperate pleading, Yasha made a wounded noise, and Tony's eyes flickered open.

"Who… Yasha?”

The voice was weak and pained and the Asset wanted to tear the limbs off the bodies of every person responsible for his suffering. But for now, reassuring Antoshka had priority, “ _Da_. I'm here. I will get you out, ‘toshka.”

He looked around the cell, hoping that for once, his senses were wrong. Perhaps she was there, hiding, waiting for him.

But his eyes told the same story that he already knew. Natalia wasn't there. She had never been in this cell, though there was the faintest scent of her on Tony's filthy clothes. She had been close enough to touch him, but she was not here.

In the back of his mind, nagging thoughts didn’t leave him. _Where is Natalia? How did she get a tracker to Tony? Is she alive?_

For a few long moments, he was frozen, caught up by an impossible problem, one that had no solution.

Leaving the Widow behind would be the worst betrayal, he knew that. He could not leave without her.

And yet, seeing the weak, barely breathing boy in his arms, he couldn’t afford to waste time. If he sought out Natalia now, and Tony died in the meantime… his sister would never forgive him.

But, for Tony… it was very clear already that she would forgive being left behind. 

In a low whisper that tore out of his throat like barbed wire, he said, “Priority, bring the Target home, medical care needed immediately. Secondary objective, find information about Natka's condition and whereabouts, protect Target with life.”

His voice broke on his sister's name.

Getting up from his kneeling position, he held Tony closer with his left arm. The metal would be a firm shield between the child’s vital body parts and any danger. With precise movements, the Asset got them out of the cell blocks. Suspiciously, they didn't run into many guards, not enough to warrant the Asset’s concern. Those that were foolish enough to oppose him were dealt with as quickly, albeit painfully, as he could manage.

Unbeknownst to Yasha, Hydra had long since decided that the Stark boy wasn’t worth the effort now that they had a little spider in their clutches. The higher-ups only had lowly goons loitering around the base, to play pretend for the Asset they knew would be coming. No reason to tip him off. Not yet.

Yasha didn’t stop to consider it, to figure out the _why_ behind the ease of his escape. He just accepted it as the blessing it was, and moved faster. He continued on and on until he reached the border of the base, and then the forest surrounding it. Only when he was fairly certain that he hadn’t been followed, did he dare to stop. He knelt again, setting down his precious cargo, which until now had not moved at all. If not for the faint heartbeat he had been tracking with every step, Yasha would have thought him dead.

“Toshka.” Tenderly Yasha stroked the dirty hair from the boy’s forehead. “Toshka, I need you awake. You need to take these…”

He rummaged in the bag he had brought, locating and rattling a box full of pills in front of Antoshka’s face. 

Thankfully, the child actually woke from the change of position, loss of body heat, and the sound of the pills. Usually bright brown eyes looked at Yasha, dull and glazed now from fever and the neverending nightmare Tony had lived through. Tiredly, the boy accepted the pills, not spitting any out as Yasha carefully put them into his mouth, despite how awfully bitter those must taste, even with the small canteen of water Yasha had brought with him. One of tablets was a painkiller, another a strong antibiotic, while another was to put Antoshka back to sleep. Yasha hated to do this to his brother, worried so much that Tony might never wake back up, but as far as the ex-assassin could tell, sleep was the best state of being for Antoshka until they could get to a hospital. He would be in far too much pain otherwise.

The ordeal of traveling would strain him too much, exaggerate the wounds and bruises and other injuries Yasha couldn’t see but knew were there. Before his little brother fell into the arms of Morpheus on a drugged sleep, he slurred, “Natka came f'r me. Yasha, she came. She pr'tected… she protected me… she… sang our… lulla-”

A bittersweet smile made itself home on Yasha’s lips when Tony couldn’t finish his sentence before falling asleep again. Tenderly, with tears in his eyes and pain in his heart he answered, “I know, _kotonek_ , I know. She was your guardian angel.”

He leaned forward and pressed his trembling lips to Tony’s grime-streaked forehead. Then he scooped him up again, wrapped in a blanket from the Asset's bag, tucked carefully and securely against Yasha's chest. With one last glance back, he moved forward. In his mind echoed Antoshka’s slurred words, and he could only think, _I'm so sorry, Natalia. You did what I couldn’t._


	28. Instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets the medical help he desperately needs. The Jarvises are there, as is Bucky. Unlike Howard, Stane wants to visit. Bucky, for reasons he can't explain, doesn’t feel comfortable with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter is pretty short, we'll put the next one up late tonight or early tomorrow!

Tony was sleeping. He was always sleeping. Every time Bucky (was he still Bucky?) looked through the small door in the window into the hospital room, those dark eyelashes added to the dark circles under Tony’s hollow cheeks. He was thin. So very thin. Bucky had felt it, when he’d found him, felt the way his bones stood out under his skin, how his weight was so slight in the Asset’s hands.

Ana and Jarvis were both sitting on the small, uncomfortable couch on the far side of Tony’s bed, the elderly couple holding hands and staring at Tony much the same way Bucky was, with worry and weariness deepening the lines on their faces. They looked tired. They hadn’t been home yet, not since Bucky had called them when he got to the hospital. That had been… over eighteen hours ago now.

Stark still hadn’t come. Bucky had wondered, more than once, if anyone would care if the man went missing. 

He could do it. It wouldn’t be hard. Killing was what he was for. It was all he was good for. After the past weeks, especially the past few days, he was more sure of that fact than anything else. He sure as hell had proved his uselessness as a protector, a brother, anything but a tool in better hands.

Taking a shallow breath, Bucky closed his eyes, trusting his other senses to keep him aware of his surroundings. He wouldn't rest, couldn't if he tried. All he could do was stand watch, and wait, and think.

The absence of Natka felt like a physical pain in his chest. A gaping hole where, such a short time ago, he'd fancied himself part of a family. The extent to which he'd failed them, both of his precious siblings, was so enormous a shortcoming that he wasn't at all sure how he could possibly move forward after this.

He would, though. He already had a plan. He was just waiting for Tony to open his eyes. As soon as he knew Tony was safe, and would be alright... the Asset had a plan.

He would save his sister at any cost. He was fully prepared to die for her, to suffer anything to bring her back. To prevent her from whatever fate awaited her in Hydra's hands.

He just needed to be sure that Tony would be alright.

A voice Bucky recognized drew his head around as he opened his eyes, and down the hall at the nurse’s station he saw Obadiah Stane. The man had a bouquet of flowers, a bunch of balloons, and a large stuffed animal in his hands, and the nurse he was speaking to was smiling at him with approval. She motioned down the hall, Bucky could hear her saying the room number, and he saw the way Stane’s expression flickered almost unnoticeably for a moment with annoyance when he saw Bucky.

“Standing guard?” The man asked with an empty smile as he approached, reaching for the door handle to Tony’s room.

Without thinking about it, Bucky’s arm snapped out, barring his way.

Stane’s expression immediately darkened, a tone of danger in his low, even voice. “What are you doing?”

Bucky didn’t reply. He didn’t have an answer, other than the same gut instinct he’d always had: to keep Obadiah Stane away from Tony.

Obadiah's expression, though still dark, had turned into something taunting. “What, you think I’m gonna hurt the boy? I know your brain is a bit scrambled, but don’t you think if I’d wanted to hurt him, I would have used the eight years of chances before now? If I’d wanted to endanger Tony, I certainly wouldn’t do it anywhere near either of his brainwashed Russian watchdogs.”

There was that mocking tone in Stane’s voice, one Bucky was used to. He had always looked at him and Natka (the thought of her sent pain searing through his chest) with poorly concealed disdain and dismissal. They were an annoyance in his life. A bothersome pet project of Howard’s. That wasn’t anything new.

But… there was something else. Something in those eyes that felt so malevolent that Bucky had to fight back a sudden wave of nausea. Nausea born of a horrific realization.

“Now, are you gonna let me in to see my godson? Or do I need to call security?” Stane’s superiority was clear on his face and in the tone of his voice. So was the hint of triumph, as if he’d pulled one over on everyone and couldn’t help but gloat about it.

He didn’t have proof yet, Bucky knew that. But in that moment he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Obadiah Stane had somehow been involved in Tony’s kidnapping.

And he was going to find out how.


	29. Your Pain Is Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading the doctor’s report is as close to torture as Edwin Jarvis can get these days. Tony had suffered. His wonderful, bright, ambitious boy had suffered so greatly, and it hurts to see the evidence. James keeps his distance, Ana can't seem to stop crying, Miss Natasha seems to be missing, and Edwin doesn’t know what to do anymore. He just hopes they can help their boy somehow.

_December 1983_

Doctor’s report:  
_Patient:_ Anthony Edward Stark  
DOB: 05/29/1975 (8 y)

_Medical History:_  
Medications: none  
Injuries: broken wrist

_Summary:_ Patient was admitted on 11/22/1983 in the private ward. The Patient exhibited clear signs of fatigue. While coherent, he breathed shallowly, favoring his right leg. Patient is visibly underweight. Most of the body is covered in bruises and wounds of various sizes consistent with physical abuse/torture. Patient isn’t forthcoming with information about those. Patient indicates pain on the right side, left shoulder, and left shin. A general soreness is reported. The Patient shows evasive behavior.

_Diagnostic:_ CAT, MRI, Blood samples

_Results:_ Patient has suffered severe malnourishment. The third through sixth ribs (dexter) show badly healed breaks, one will have to be reset to ensure future growth won’t compromise the lung. Patient has broken his shin (sinister), dislocated shoulder (si), and has several lacerations, three of which need to be stitched. There are 2nd degree round burn marks on the Patient’s inner thighs (bilateral) along with scarred-over tissue; shallow lacerations, most likely done with something blunt, indicated by the ripping of skin. The wounds had been reopened several times, resulting in scarred tissue and loss of sensitivity around that area. The patient's body is covered in bruises in various stages of healing.

_Therapy:_ Ribs have to be reset. Surgery mandatory, normal after-surgery procedure recommended. Dislocated shoulder has to be relocated. High calorie and high vitamin solution-infusions are to be given the first three days, as the patient’s stomach won’t be able to process solid food. Scar tissue is to be treated with ointment; deeper lacerations have been stitched. Bandages to be changed twice every day. After the infusions, the Patient has to be slowly retrained in regular eating behavior. Consulting a psychological specialist is highly recommended.

_Medication:_ Despite the Patient’s age, morphine is highly recommended. Additionally a full ten-day course of amoxicillin. 10000 iu Vitamin D3 for three weeks, followed by blood test to ensure normal levels are reached. B vitamin injections highly recommended in addition to vitamin C supplements. Recommend alternating acetaminophen and ibuprofen for temporary pain management. Consider Sertraline for both pain relief and anxiety, pending psychiatrist approval.

* * *

After reading the complete doctor's report that Tony had been sent home with, Edwin Jarvis had to sit down. The things that had to have been done to his boy for him to sustain such injuries—imagination was a wild and cruel creature. 

_Has Howard even read this?_ Jarvis couldn't help but wonder. _No human in their right mind would persist in trying to get a patient with those kinds of injuries released from the hospital ahead of time. But then, Howard hasn’t been in his right mind for a few years._ The thought felt bitter but rang true. 

Edwin sighed. How he was supposed to explain this to Ana, or, God forbid, James, was a mystery to him. His wrinkled hand reached forward, gently brushing a lone curl out of Tony’s sleeping face. 

The young boy had stayed in the hospital for two weeks, but had been home for a few hours now, most of which he had slept. In fact, last time Tony had been awake enough to talk for a few minutes, he seemed to have no idea at all what day it was, or how much time had passed. Jarvis wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

Howard was once again not around. According to him, he was dealing with some press releases about the photograph. How those vultures had gotten a shot of the battered boy was still beyond them all. Ana was preparing a light meal for when Tony woke up again, and as far as Jarvis knew, Peggy and Mr. Stane were dealing with their sides of business.

Edwin was pretty certain that James was still standing watch outside the room. The former assassin had not left Tony’s side for longer than it took to use the bathroom ever since the moment he had staggered into the hospital where Edwin had been waiting, Tony unconscious in his arms. The dedication to the boy was heartwarming and sweet. However, Edwin worried about the aggressive behavior James had started to show towards—well, pretty much everyone, including Edwin himself.

His concern was heightened by the fact that he had seen neither hide nor hair from Miss Natasha. He had expected her to be glued to Tony’s side from the moment they finally recovered him. Maybe even insisting on staying in the same hospital bed. Sometimes, her possessive behavior was unsettling, though Tony never seemed to mind.

Therefore her absence was like red flashing alarms. It wasn't uncommon for her to disappear for a few days, she very closely guarded her privacy and freedom. But for her to be gone for this long... something was wrong. Edwin had mulled over how he wanted to broach that topic with James, had been so close to asking a dozen times. But between his own inability to think of how to phrase such a query, his apprehension and fear as to what the answer might be, and James' frightening mood and behavior... as of yet, Jarvis had still not come up with a suitable way to bring it up. _In the end_ , Jarvis thought, _I will just have to be frank with him. In all likelihood, that will be the best approach._

But when Tony finally asked to see her, asked where she was... Edwin could only hope that he had a happy answer for the boy.

* * *

A gentle knock on the door had Edwin jumping from his light slumber. For a moment, he wondered who James had let past him. The man may as well have sealed the door nowadays, he guarded it so fiercely. Edwin stood and walked to the door, not wanting to risk waking Tony. The boy needed all the rest he could get. 

Jarvis opened the door a crack, just enough so he could see who stood behind it. 

_If you think of the devil..._

James was on the other side, with Ana behind him holding a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and two cups on it. Jarvis opened the door wide enough for them to come in, then shut it quickly behind them. James wasn’t the only one who’d like to seal the door. As Edwin turned towards the bed, he saw Ana setting down the tray and gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. She moved her trembling hand towards the boy. Ever since Tony had been found, Ana’s hands shook. The words _psychological specialist_ circled in his head whenever Jarvis’ eyes caught the shaking. Tony wasn’t the only one who should visit one. All of them should.

James stood close by, hovering over Ana’s shoulder, his eyes trained on the sleeping child. As Edwin moved towards them, Tony’s nose scrunched up and his eyelashes fluttered.

* * *

With a low groan, Tony woke up. He came to at Ana’s gentle touch, and the reassuring presences of Jarvis and Yasha. 

_No. Not quite Yasha_ , his sluggish mind told him. Ever since Tony had been found, his brother had been acting differently.

Yes, Tony had been in a lot of pain, he was still plagued by a persistent aching soreness, but he had picked up on the subtle changes. He and Ya-James weren’t attuned anymore. Not like before. While James wasn’t behaving as he had while going by the name “Bucky,” he was a far cry from the Yasha that Tony had grown up with the past few years. Tony kept hoping that Natka would be able to explain the change when she visited him. She still hadn't, not when he was awake, and he desperately wanted to see her.

“Hello dear,” Ana’s soft, caring voice startled him from his musing. Blinking away the nightmares that shadowed behind his eyes, Tony focused on the elderly woman. “Can I help you sit up? I have some soup and bread for you. And some water, and even blueberry juice if you like.”

Tony didn’t feel hungry. He never did these days. The hunger while he’d been gone had been his constant companion, and a cruel one at that. So after he had taken a couple of bites, he was usually full for the rest of the day. And Tony had already had breakfast.

Still, Ana looked at him with so much hope and love, that he tried to smile. He tried to channel the energy to reassure her. A brief bob of the head was all he could muster.

Ana smiled brightly, if a little wetly, before gently helping him to sit, ever so carefully avoiding his bandages. While Ana helped Tony move, James propped up the pillows behind him, trying to make sure they were comfortable for him.

Then she turned towards her husband, burying her face against Jarvis’ stomach for a moment. All in a vain attempt to not show her pain and tears. Tony wondered if she thought he believed the deception. After all, Tony was plainly able to see her shoulders shaking and hear her nearly silent sob. 

Tony fixed his gaze on James, trying to beseech him to come closer. Tony both desperately needed and feared physical touch. But James just gave a minute shake of his head before he put the food in front of Tony.

A minute passed before Ana turned around, trying to let a smile slip in place instead of the thinned line her lips formed. Anthony let her think he hadn’t seen it, not looking at her until she addressed him again.

“Tony, dear, anything you want to eat later?”

It was a feeble attempt at normalcy, at what they had before. But Tony gifted her with a soft broken smile, the best he could, and reached for the spoon. “ _Nyet_. I’d eat whatever you cooked, as long as you cooked it.”

Despite his gaze being focused on the soup, despite the pain throbbing through his body in time with his blood, Tony couldn’t help but notice the atmosphere shifting. While before it had held a fragile sort of peace and a rather dark note, the adults seemed to be feeling something akin to hope and happiness.

And Tony thought as the first spoonful of soup hit his taste buds, that maybe, just maybe, with Ana and Jarvis, with James and Natka—with his family—everything could maybe be better in due time.


	30. To Love Means To Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony learns what happened to Natasha, and James makes a promise.
> 
> “I can’t change my mistakes. I can only learn from them and never repeat them. I am not asking for you to forgive me. I’m not worth that. What I’m asking is that you listen for as long as I need for this.”

Time passed, and while Tony slowly healed and opened up a little bit again, he wasn’t the same vibrant boy anymore. No one, except maybe Howard, expected him to be. Ana and Edwin kept a close watch over him and had been able to pressure Howard into leaving him alone. Howard had fallen into an even worse phase of alcoholism while Tony had been gone, and until he was able to pull himself together, it was best for everyone that he saw Tony only minimally. James rarely let the boy out of his sight, standing silently behind or next to Tony wherever he went. 

Tony didn’t leave the mansion anymore. He didn’t want to. He hadn’t played the piano since his return. He barely spoke in anything but Russian and Italian, when he spoke at all. Edwin and Ana had to work hard not to smother him, but he allowed them their slightly claustrophobic affections. He never begrudged Ana a hug, or shied away from Jarvis reaching out to tousle his hair. 

Stane had been by the mansion a couple times, but he never stayed long. Tony could feel the way James changed when Obadiah was in the house, a cold fury that he barely managed to keep inside himself. Tony hadn't asked about it, but he suspected that James held Obadiah personally responsible for what had happened. Tony didn't know if it was true or not, but he was more than willing to let his brother set that particular boundary. So he mostly ignored Stane's existence, and kept himself scarce when he came to the house.

Peggy had been included in those few that Tony graced with short sentences. Every time she left, he could see her heart break a little bit more, knowing how much she wished she could make everything better. Deep down he knew he should feel something at that. He knew he should feel sorry.

Or sad.

Or angry on her behalf.

Or… really anything.

But there was nothing. Tony didn’t feel much these days. The innocent gleam in his eyes had dulled, and everything about him muted.

He rarely smiled anymore, and those rare tugs on the corner of his mouth were all earned by James. And James in return ate, slept, stood, walked, breathed beside him like a silent shadow. Others might complain about it, the way he hovered constantly, but not Tony. He loved the safety and attention from his big brother. Every single second of it.

Tony's wounds had healed nicely, one of the doctors had said during one of his many checkups. Tony wondered why, if that was the case, he still was in pain every day. 

Why his shoulder throbbed. 

Why his chest hurt with every breath.

Why his leg kept buckling.

Sometimes, at the beginning more than now, Tony could feel the touches of a ghost. Hands harsh and uncaring. Fists inflicting pain. A sharp cold-

“Antoshka,” James, _it was always James_ , interrupted his spiraling thoughts. 

Tony turned slightly towards him. Currently they sat on the floor of his room, huddled close to each other in front of one of his many book cases. “Hm.”

Most days that was all he gave for acknowledgement. It was enough for James and Edwin and Ana. And beyond that, Tony didn’t care.

“I… there is something I need to…” James' voice was hesitant, and insecurity laced each word. Tony waited.

After a shuddery breath, his brother soldiered on, “She is gone.”

Three little words. Tony had read about the impact of three little words. He had never truly believed that. 

Until now. 

His eyes narrowed, head tilted, jaw clenched. Tony didn’t need to ask who _she_ was. There was no need for any clarification in that regard, as her absence was the ever-present ache that never left them. 

It had upset him in the beginning. He had asked the night of his first day home, having waited all day to see her. James had looked at him, his eyes so thoroughly masked they were entirely blank, and told him that she couldn't come. Tony had not liked that, not at all, and been halfway into a tantrum before exhaustion overcame him. James had slept sitting up next to him all night, Tony's head pillowed on his leg, not minding the tears that spilled over and made a wet spot on his jeans.

The next day, Tony had asked again. And again, James' face became a mask, and he said she couldn't come to him. Over and over and over again, Tony asked. James had never changed his answer. 

Sometime in the first week, Tony had stopped. It was his fifth day home, or maybe his sixth, and he hadn't seen James sleep once in all that time. His brother's exhaustion was palpable, and Tony had chanced asking the question one more time, even playing dirty. 

"Yasha? Where is Natka? Why isn't she here?"

The use of his old name, the one Natasha had given him, had made James close his eyes. And before he could pull up his walls and masks, for a moment Tony could see the overwhelming, crippling agony on his face when he heard their sister's name.

He hadn't asked again. He was afraid, both of the answer, and why it hurt James so badly that he couldn't even say it.

Now, finally, he was ready to talk. Tony could feel the way James had steeled himself for this, prepared himself for the questions. The quiet ease between them was gone, the brief silence stifling as James chose his words carefully.

_Huh_ , Tony wondered, _since when have you become such an open book?_

There wasn’t much time for him to ponder that question before James faced him fully and spoke, his voice heavy and harsh as he spoke in Russian, the words carrying a staggering impact. “We looked for you for weeks. And no matter how hard we tried, we always got there too late. We finally had to give up, we needed more information, so we came home. Antoshka… I'm so sorry. I lost myself. I got lost inside myself, inside the grief, and I left Natka to figure it out on her own. And she did. Somehow she figured it all out… I had my suspicions that it was Hydra, and I had hoped that we would get you back before they did something permanent to you. I thought Natalia didn't know. But she did. And I think… Tony, I think she knew that she wasn't going to be coming back.”

Tony's heart was pounding, but he could barely breathe. All he had wanted for the past weeks was to know, to understand why Natka wasn't with him, but this was so much worse than anything he had imagined. “What are you saying?”

James was trembling slightly, as if he wasn't able to fully control himself, and his voice was equally shaky. “I'm trying to say— _nyet_ , I’m saying that she somehow found a way to get to you, she left a way for me to find you. But she didn't come back, Antoshka. She is with them. Hydra has her.”

Tony felt as if his world had shattered, once again. He had been doing so well. Had been trying to put the sharp edges of the pieces together from the first time, using the glue made up of James’ honesty and constant support.

_Well,_ his thoughts turned bitter, _I shouldn’t have been so naive. Never rely on someone else to hold you together, I guess._

Tony stood up abruptly. He turned away from the bookcase and walked towards his door, needing to get out of the room that was suddenly far too small. He heard James straightening himself and making a half-hearted attempt to follow him. 

“Don’t," Tony hissed over his shoulder, leaving James behind as he slammed the door and stalked angrily away.

* * *

James could only wait so long before he could no longer hold back his urge to check on his brother. He knew Tony was angry. James was too.

He was angry that Natka hadn’t trusted him enough to find a solution. To tell him her plan, to take him with her. 

He was angry that he hadn’t killed Stark three years ago when he'd found the man beating his own child. He was angry that he hadn't run, taking Natka and Tony with him.

He was seething, because all he wanted was to live peacefully, and Tony and Natka had paid the price.

All that was good in his life had been ripped away and pieced back together wrong.

And there was no one to blame but himself. With a sigh resonating with all the worry and sadness inside him, James made his way towards the only place he could imagine Tony would go. He prayed that the boy would be there. And that in finally telling Tony what had happened to Natka, he hadn't lost his brother too.

Even from across the hall, James could tell that Tony was in the music room. The doors were cracked open and James could hear the low murmured words. 

“Idiots. Both of them. How could they? This is what you get for caring—idiot, you’re the biggest idiot, you're so stupid—”

James wasn’t certain if he would be allowed into the room, but he couldn't let that train of thought fester anymore in his brother's mind. If anyone was _not_ to blame in this whole mess, it was Antoshka.

Knocking at the door, James pushed it open enough for Tony to see him. As soon as the boy's gaze landed on him, his words stopped and his face became closed off. “What?”

Although Tony's voice was cold, indifferent— and when had he learned to do that?— his eyes were more expressive than they had been in a long time now.

James walked over to the piano, well aware of the eyes following his every move. For a heartbeat his step faltered, but he kept going. 

He needed to do this. He had one chance to start atoning for his mistakes, one chance to try and show Tony that he wasn't giving up. Sliding between the piano and the bench, James opened the cover over the keys and sat down. He didn't look at Tony, he didn't want to see that hard, cold expression on his little brother's face, but he spoke loud enough that he could hear.

“I can’t change my mistakes. I can only learn from them and never repeat them. I am not asking for you to forgive me. I’m not worth that. What I’m asking is that you listen for as long as I need for this.” With that, and one quick pleading glance, James let his fingers press gently against the keys. It only took a few notes before he heard Tony's intake of breath, knowing he recognized the melody. A melody which had given comfort to all the three of them, brought them together. James had never played it before, but he had watched Tony doing it so often that he remembered where to put his hands.

“That's her song…” Tony whispered, his voice thick with tears.

“Yes it is. And as long as we remember her song, I know we will find her. I won't give up, Antoshka. I will never give up. I will bring our Natka back, I promise it on my love for both of you.”

Whiskey-brown eyes followed James’ fingers while he softly pressed the piano keys. He didn't play very fast, his fingers weren't used to such movement, but he managed the melody just fine. James made it through the first verse before he felt a gentle push, Tony taking a seat next to him on the piano bench.

He glanced up at James and arched an eyebrow, then he took over, playing the notes at the usual speed, adding in the bottom hand to round out the lullaby. With a deep sigh, the boy leaned against him. 

“I know. As long as we remember her song, she will be coming home. We'll do it together. We'll bring our Natka home.”

As Tony played, James sang the lyrics softly, clinging to the fragile peace between them. It would take work, restoring their relationship, building it up again amidst so much pain and repressed anger. But James was willing to put everything he had into it. In that, and in finding their missing sister.

And like Tony said, they'd do it together. No matter how long it took, they would find her and bring her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, DON'T PANIC! Because first of all, THIS STORY HAS A SEQUEL! It is in the process of being written, and we're working very hard on it. Secondly... how about a little sneak peek?
> 
> Stay tuned for the bonus chapter epilogue, which we will be posting in a few days!


	31. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been seven years, and time has changed everyone. Except for one thing... Tony and James never stopped searching.
> 
> They never could have predicted that their sister would find them first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fills Meg's BBB square C2 - December 16, 1991
> 
> Title: The Name You Gave Me - Chapter 31: Epilogue  
> Collaborator: rebelmeg, fightingforcreativity  
> Square Filled: for meg, C2 - December 16, 1991  
> Ship: Tony & Natasha & Bucky  
> Rating: Mature  
> Major Tags: violence, epilogue/sequel teaser, Winter Soldier, character death, car accident  
> Summary: It's been seven years, and time has changed everyone. Except for one thing... Tony and James never stopped searching. They never could have predicted that their sister would find them first.  
> Word Count: 49,400

_December 16, 1991_

Tony was irritated. Really irritated. Not only was he facing the entire Christmas break from school with his father, but James wouldn't even be there. Peggy would be there for a few days, which was great, he loved Peggy. And Obadiah, though their relationship wasn't what it had been when Tony had been a little kid. But other than that, it would just be him and Howard.

A very merry Christmas to all.

The drive from MIT to the mansion had so far been uncomfortable at best, and insufferable at worst. After their first stop for gas an hour after leaving school, Tony had gotten into the backseat without a word, and when he wasn't sleeping, he was doing a damn good impression of it.

Darkness had finally fallen hours ago, and Tony guessed it was probably nine or ten o'clock, which would hopefully mean they'd be home in less than an hour. He was tired, the grumpy kind of tired, and he couldn't seem to really fall asleep. He was stuck somewhere in a restless doze, just wishing they were home so he could lock himself in his room.

All at once, with a deafening noise, Tony was thrown into the door, and then onto the floor, jolting into wakefulness as his ankle and his left shoulder started screaming in pain. He felt dizzy and disoriented, trying to get his bearings, when he heard Howard cough, and smelled burning metal, engine oil, and smoke.

 _James is going to flip his shit when he finds out Howard totaled a car with me in it,_ he thought to himself, trying to get enough leverage to hoist himself up off the floor. It was almost an impossible task, with just the one working foot and one shoulder on fire. Before he could do much more than turn himself slightly, another loud noise made him wince, the sound of metal being rended apart like it was tissue paper.

Howard's door was suddenly gone, _ripped_ completely off its hinges, and in the empty space Tony could barely see a slight black shadow in the flickering light of the fire coming from the engine.

While Tony watched in silent, stupefied horror, the small dark figure reached out and tore Howard's seatbelt away, and in the next movement pulled him bodily from the car.

Howard was mumbling, words that Tony couldn't really make out, and the teenager's gaze was locked on the face that had finally come into view.

A young face. So shockingly young. Pale and fine-featured, with green eyes that suddenly burned with a hatred so intense, Tony gasped. And then, with a sudden movement from the mysterious figure, blood spattered the window across from Tony.

He knew instantly that his father was dead.

Though his ears were ringing, Tony could hear the small cry that inadvertently left his mouth. And though he was almost nauseous with the dizziness and half-blinded by the blood trickling down his face, he could very clearly see the moment when the assassin's head jerked up, nearly blood-red hair flying.

And their eyes met.

In the next moment, he was out of the car, another door ripped off its hinges, being dragged across broken glass as he scrambled for purchase. He couldn't speak, he could barely breathe, and his eyes were wide with terror when a small fist wrapped itself into the shirt collar at his throat, and lifted him right off the ground.

His feet dangled, the toes of his shoes barely touching the pavement, and he looked down into the face of the young woman that had just killed his father.

Tony's eyes filled with tears, and he gripped her wrist with both hands, disbelief and hope and terror and a dozen other emotions stunning him. Struggling for breath, he managed to get out one single word.

_"Natka."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT'S A WRAP! Don't worry, there is DEFINITELY going to be a sequel that covers everything that happened in that seven years, and we're in the process of working on it.
> 
> We won't start posting until it's finished, but we hope to be doing that by December. *Crosses fingers and blows you all kisses* Thanks for sticking it out with us on this long, angst-fraught journey! We love you!


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